


Pelmeni

by LizzyGal



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blood and Injury, Breeding Kink, Cake, Canon-Typical Violence, Dismemberment, Double Penetration, Drama, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Face Slapping, Family Drama, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Food, Gratuitous Smut, Guns, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Mobster Bucky, Multi, Murder, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Over the Top, Piercings, Religion, Restraints, Rough Sex, Russian Mafia, Secret Relationship, Sexual Harassment, Shameless Smut, Shooting Guns, Slut Shaming is mentioned, Smut, Spitroasting, Tattoos, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Traditional Family Roles, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex, Violence, dark themes, mobster steve, this is filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27500947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyGal/pseuds/LizzyGal
Summary: My alternate 'Russian mob' setting with Steve and Bucky!James Bucky Barnes has a good life, as a member of a powerful organized crime syndicate. His best friend Steve is a member too and his literal partner in crime. Bucky's got a problem though. You. His longtime love and secret girlfriend. Unfortunately, your father is his boss and has plans for you that involve normal life.Steve has a problem too. Steve wants in on your relationship and more than the semi-regular/occasional steamy threesomes.You don't have a problem, you're just busy with a big mob wedding coming up, which means a big celebration, that you're busy catering for.Will you and Bucky keep your forbidden relationship secret?Will your father manage to set you up with a perfect normal guy?Will Steve and Bucky convince you to go full throuple?Will you manage to get all the dumplings for the wedding done in time?:::Content Warning for Chapter 1 a fight and unwanted sexual advances/touching not by main character. Chapter 2 has murder, mentions of slut-shaming and dismemberment.  Chapter 3 has restraints during sex and some rough sex:::
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 91
Kudos: 213
Collections: Explicit Stories, Finished will re-read





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> :::Hello all!!:::
> 
> I wanted to put in a quick note on some name adjustments I made. Since this is a AU story set in the world of the Russian Mob, I adjusted Bucky and Alexander Pierce's name for more realism. All mistakes are my own too. Leave it to me to mess up internet name translators, lol. But, Yasha will be used interchangeably with James in here. And in place of Alexander, I'm going with Aleksandr. 
> 
> :::Thank you and enjoy!!:::
> 
> ***Content Warning: There is a fight and sexual harassment in the form of unwanted touching, not by our main characters***

To be perfectly honest, Steve wasn’t happy anymore.

He could feel it in his gut.

It twisted and turned.

It knotted down deep, until he knew that he couldn’t go on like this another day. He couldn’t pretend that nothing was wrong and he was happy and this could be allowed to continue.

Beside him, his childhood best friend flopped down beside Steve on the bed. Gasping. Fidgeting. Bucky reached blindly onto the nightstand for his phone. That damn thing had been vibrating for the better part of ten minutes.

He had to say it.

It had to be said.

Splayed across his chest, you. Falling asleep. Exhausted. Covered with sweat and a copious amount of bodily fluids belonging to him, you and Bucky…Buck, or Yasha as you called him. 

He was still hard and buried inside of you. Unprotected. Bare. 

Seconds before you’d been screaming. Your nails digging into his broad shoulders as both he and Buck filled you, fucked you, took turns all night in response to Steve’s latest breakup.

Steve had told you and Bucky that it just didn’t work.

None of his relationships ever worked.

He now knew why. He now understood. Last night had just solidified what he’d suspected, wondered, talked about in vague terms with the brunet beside him, who swore up a storm at the sight of his phone’s screen.

“I lied,” Steve told his lifelong friend, lifting your messy hair from where it had slid over your face in a curtain. Your deep breaths steadying out, leveling, as you slipped into blissful sleep, only having gotten a few hours, at most, broken up over the night.

“Oh yeah?”

Bucky scowled at his phone then plopped back, tapping at his screen to unlock it and send a return message. Reaching over to stroke your damp back, trace his fingers along your spine, slippery with a mix of his and your and Steve’s sweat. 

He and Steve shared everything since they were children. Everything.

He’d been your first but it wasn’t long before Steve was joining. The two of you had been a couple since you were sixteen and he was eighteen, over the years, when Steve wasn’t seeing someone, he was a constant visitor to your bed and over the years, time that he wasn’t in a relationship grew longer. He became a fixture in the guest room at Bucky’s place to outward appearances.

No one thought it was odd.

Steve and Bucky, Bucky and Steve, one was rarely seen without the other.

To outward appearances, you lived across the hall.

For the daughter of Alexsandr ‘the Beast’ Pierce, a high-ranking figure in the Russian Crime Syndicate that controlled most all the Russian crime on the eastern seaboard of the United States, you couldn’t just go out and live anywhere. Your father had many enemies. It’d been a horrible shock when at the big two-eight, you announced that you were moving out of the family home. 

Your life, needless to say, was not a normal one in any way.

The fact that Bucky and occasionally Steve, lived across the hall, two brutal enforcers within that same criminal empire, had been a huge plus to your father. Who wanted his only daughter to be safe and live a happy, normal life. Emphasis on the normal.

Your father had big dreams for you.

A house in the burbs surrounded by a white picket fence, two or three grandkids, a dog, flowers and a husband who understood that he needed to follow the rules set by Aleksandr for his extended family.

If it was the last thing he did, Aleksandr would find you a nice and normal and respectful normal nonthreatening male. A husband to fall in love with and marry and have a nice normal life with. And he’d been throwing males at you left and right since you turned thirty.

Needless to say, your father could never find out about you and Yasha. Forget you and Yasha and sometimes Steve.

No.

His head would explode.

“I want to do it. I’m in.”

Surprised, Bucky looked over at the blonde, phone in hand.

To say that things had reached a point of no return with you was a bit of an understatement. When he was younger, it was fine to keep things quiet and hidden from your father, great even. Your father was terrifying. But, now, so was he. Things had changed over the years. Now Bucky was far enough involved into the Romanov Criminal Empire that he no longer feared your father. Both Bucky and Steve had now been involved longer than they had not, and weren’t at the bottom of the ladder anymore. Gone were the days when they had to prove themselves and their worth and value.

Those days were long gone.

Now, now Yahsa wanted everyone to know. He didn’t know how badly he wanted everyone to know before Carol had proposed to her partner Natasha and the wedding was tomorrow, in their church, among their people, not hiding or sneaking around.

“I’ll split the cost. You pay half and I’ll pay half and we’ll put the house in her name. We can all live together. We can start a family. I’ll be there when you tell Aleksandr. I’m in. I’m done living like this, I’m ready now.”

It was why he’d broken up with Sharon.

Bucky told him he was going to tell your father that he loved you and wanted to start a life together, move in together. He’d found a house and put the full price offer, in cash.

Steve wanted that. He wanted to share his life with the two of you. It was the two of you who helped him get through the loss of his mom, his teenage years, hell, his adult years. How did someone like him wrap his head around that? The three of you grew up in the utmost of traditional homes. In a small immigrant community, raised within the Russian Orthodox Church, taught in the church’s schools, only hanging out with kids from other families in the same neighborhood and church and the syndicate. Everyone knew everything that everyone did. 

Two men and one woman, that would make people talk.

Maybe not as much now compared to ten years ago, Steve and Bucky were now feared as much as Alexsandr. 

In Bucky’s case, perhaps a bit more.

Unable to even disguise his displeasure with the text he’d gotten. “Aleksandr’s on his way over now to check on the dumplings and his little angel, before giving us our marching orders for the day.”

Then sitting up, leaning over, knowing that his best friend was still balls deep in his best girl, Bucky pressed kisses over your shoulder, along that warm curve leading to your neck, licking the line of flesh to your throat. 

Tugging you from that delicious sleep that had begun to wrap its warm cozy fingers around you. Making you squirm. Making you curl up on the warm body you found yourself plastered on, pushing your face against solid muscle that smelled like expensive cologne and sweat, along with that distinct male scent that could only be Steve.

Beneath you, he shifted around, hand smoothed over the small of your back to hold you in place and not allow his softening erection to escape from your body. Size alone was the only thing left not allowing him to pop out, signaling a final end to the night.

Up until your high school sweetheart lazily sucked on the corner of your jaw, whispering the most horrifying words in the English language to you.

“Your fathers on his way over to check on the dumpling progress.”

If the building was on fire, you wouldn’t have moved as quickly.

A panicked noise came from you.

And yes, you were a strong modern woman who had her own life, a career, autonomy and still…you couldn’t let your family down, you couldn’t let your father down.

Gasping profanities spewed forth from your lips as you quickly rose, scrambled off Steve, as if he were the anti-Christ. A few hisses and grunts came from him in your hasty movements.

Fuzzy thoughts ran through your head as you grabbed a blanket that had been kicked off the bed, wrapped yourself up and hurriedly leaned over Steve, to kiss Yasha soundly. Knowing that this was possibly the last kiss you’d get from him for a while. You sank fingers into his thick wavy dark hair and yanked him forward, so you could take your kiss from him, get your fill, taste him and really feel him. Your childhood neighbor growing up, your high school sweetheart, the love of your life. You took what you wouldn’t get till you were behind closed doors once more.

The Russian he spoke to you was rough and made your toes curl, as he smirked against your mouth. “ _Don’t forget about this weekend. Me, you an Steve…no favors for your family._ ”

Yasha had a surprise planned for you for that weekend that involved Steve.

Just thinking about it made you blush, clamp your thighs together, anticipate very filthy wonderful things.

Stealing one last kiss, you nodded and then turned your attention down to Steve, beneath you.

Free hand not holding your makeshift toga up, you grabbed his sculpted jaw and leaned down to kiss him too. Taking what you could from him, since you didn’t know how long he would be around this time. 

Your love for Steve was unconditional and all encompassing, just like your love for Yasha. 

Yet…you never quite gave yourself fully over, knowing he’d not be around for long. Those first few times Steve had inserted himself into your relationship, you’d given your everything to the both of them, your heart breaking each time he’d started dating someone new. Now though, now you expected him to go off when he found someone new and hopefully, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

When you kissed Steve, it was not quite so demanding, so all encompassing. Never so desperately taking what you needed to get you through, till you and Yasha could have your moments together again alone. 

When you kissed Steve, it was playful and affectionate, your tongue taunting, your mouth memorizing how soft his lips were and how his nose felt touching yours.

Breaking apart with a pop, you gave Steve’s firm little ass a smack, before you hurried your way out of the master bedroom. Off to hurry next door, so you could shower and get dressed and be prepared for your father’s arrival.

Amused, Bucky laughed when Steve jerked at your less than gentle pat. 

Tossing his phone onto the nightstand, he himself got up. He himself needed a shower too. Covered with himself, you and Steve from a particularly enjoyable night. Nothing short of hot water and two firm loofa-ings would wash away the debauchery that clung to his body, mind and soul.

Steve’s voice drifted in after him.

“That’s not fair. You got a better kiss.”

Naked as the day he was born, minus the ink that covered him, James Buchanan Barnes turned the shower on to let the water heat, then looked in the mirror. Smirking at the memories of how you’d screamed out, moaned and groaned. He’d filled every last part of you, repeatedly, till the three of you had become nothing but a single entity chasing pleasure, until there was nothing but sweaty skin and slippery flesh and pulsing, clenching rapture.

Steam began to rise from the shower.

Tattoos looked back at him, decorating his chest, one sleeved arm and legs, even his hands. Each meaning something different, something specific, no one having the exact same combination, not even Steve. A criminal resume permanently marked on them, one could say.

“In her defense, you could be dating someone new tomorrow.” Bucky clapped back, rubbing at a full dental impression in his pec from you, between two onion spirals on the large basilica that stretched from his sternum down to his navel. “You haven’t earned boyfriend privileges.”

Sounds of Steve scrambling around in the bedroom made him laugh, then climb in the shower.

Maybe it was a low blow, a cheap shot.

Maybe.

He understood that it was hard for Steve. Steve wanted what the two of you shared, he wanted to belong and be part of your relationship. Over and over he’d told Steve that it wasn’t weird, that it felt right, that the two of you wanted him to be a part of your relationship and he wasn’t a third wheel. Bucky also knew Steve would have to reach that realization on his own. It was something Steve had to resolve himself, and it’d take a while for him to get it knocked into his stubborn blonde head. 

Still though, Bucky had to see the sadness on your face every time Steve met someone new and chased that hopeful spark. Bucky had to hold you those first few times when you’d cried for hours. It was the only times that he’d wanted to do bodily harm to his best friend.

Stepping into the water, he let it wash over him and soak his hair.

Steve’s voice drew nearer, echoed in the small bathroom.

“I’ll be making it up to her, don’t you worry,” came over the curtain. “Before the weekend, I’ll be in that ass too. I’m done fucking around. I want all the privileges.”

Steve could hear Bucky snickering at him.

He knew he had work to do. His work would be harder than Bucky’s. Bucky just had to tell your father that he’d been secretly dating you for well over a decade. Bucky just had to tell your father that he was in love with you, was buying a home to build your future together in. Easy.

Steve had to start making it up to you, after chipping away at your heart over the years.

***

Aleksandr opened the door to his only daughter’s apartment and was not at all shocked to see Yasha, and Steve, seated up at the kitchen bar, eating.

Absolutely divine smells of food made his full stomach grumble.

It was warm and cozy.

Your apartment was so you. So serene and welcoming, just like your late mother. It was like stepping into a spa, or magazine. He just wanted to plop down on the couch and never leave. 

No wonder the two men were always around. Brigadiers, Captains one could say, in charge of keeping the men under control and functioning, running smoothly. Pierce had no doubt that they’d one day be in his shoes, up at the top, in charge.

When you called out, “Morning Daddy,” he felt his heart swell, just how it did when you were a little girl.

Hanging his heavy coat up, he kicked off his shoes and crossed into your home, your space. It’d broken his heart, when you told him you wanted to leave the family home. But he understood your need for space of your own, your need for a home of your own. You owned your own successful catering company, specializing in Russian and Eastern European cuisine, employing mothers and daughters and wives of Romanov members.

He'd suspected there was a boy.

You were a beautiful young woman, raised well, brought up traditionally, a good girl.

It hadn’t taken long for him to find out.

He had you followed by someone he trusted. Discreet. Loyal. Someone who wouldn’t talk to anyone else.

He’d been infuriated at first, had plans to kill Yasha horribly. His daughter deserved more. His daughter deserved a normal happy life. You did not deserve to be drug down into the sludge that your brothers and he lived in. Yasha would die for daring to put a hand on his daughter…

…until he heard what Carol had to say, saw the pictures she’d taken.

Yasha treated you so well, you were so happy.

So, he put off Yasha’s brutal hit and waited and waited and waited…and was still waiting.

“Morning Button…those dumplings smell amazing, better than your grandmother could make…” he greeted, lifting his chin in response to the greetings Yasha and Steve gave him, from where they were seated at the counter, looking into the kitchen where you cooked. Aleksandr strolled right in, wearing a suit like any businessman in the city. He kissed your forehead and grabbed one of the traditional pork dumplings for the big wedding. “…and guess what I’ve done? I have a surprise for you.”

Steve continued eating what looked like eggs and bacon and toast, like it was his last meal.

Yasha ate too, less hastily, so he could listen, as always.

Pelmeni just as good as his mother made, perhaps better, because his daughter had made it. Aleksandr watched you check one of the two boiling pots on your stove and snagged a second dumpling, from where they cooled in several open containers.

“Oh Daddy noooo…noooo more surprise dates, please. I’m going to be cooking all day today to make enough food for the wedding tomorrow and reception tonight. I barely have time to think straight. I don’t have it in me to be a good date.”

Explosions of flavor, salty pork and spices, a smooth creamy base danced over his tongue.

If Yasha didn’t want to come to him, man to man, tell him that he was involved with his daughter, his only daughter, his beloved daughter… Well, there was no reason for him not to throw suitable males at his Button every chance he got, just to watch Yasha squirm, simmer, stew.

Barely just finishing what was in his mouth and eyeing a third dumpling, on Pierce went. “You don’t have to be a good date. You’re my daughter. You’re already perfect…”

You stopped testing the nearly done batch on the stove, to glance over your shoulder at your father and give him an appeasing smile. “Daddy. No. Not after that date with Sir Grabby-Hands.”

To which Steve lifted his head in interest.

Yasha had already stopped chewing. Now having perfect cover to openly listen with Steve blatantly doing so.

“Button,” Aleksandr began, eyeing a third doughy delight. “First off, had I known he was a pervert, I never would have introduced you two and he learned his lesson…”

A noise came from deep in your throat.

It had been a brutal lesson and had been given by Yasha even, ensuring that the banker would never again be so forward with a woman, forget his daughter.

“…and second of all, this is to make things easier on you. You cannot go to this event alone. You’re a Pierce. We have a reputation to uphold and you may need a helper. This is for your benefit.”

Another doubtful noise came from you, very much sounding like noises his mother made.

Snagging that third dumpling with a hand decorated with faded tattoos, Aleksandr greatly enjoyed the quiet from Yasha as the man’s mood soured, whatever plan he had in mind ruined.

“Daddy no,” you argued, turning off the boiling water and stepping over to the sink, to grab your holed ladle and bowl, to fish out the dumplings, so as not to damage them. “Not this time. I’ll feel bad and won’t be able to be a good date. Plus, I already have all the volunteers I need to help with the dumplings.”

Of that Pierce had no doubt.

Everyone was looking forward to your dumplings.

“Don’t you worry little one. He’s a respectful boy, who knows what’s good for him and will be nothing but manners. My daughter deserves to be on the arm of a man who treats her like a queen, at the event of the year, maybe even decade. Everyone will be there tomorrow. You’re not going to be alone, yet again.” There, one knife in. Date his daughter surreptitiously for god knows how long and keep a straight face? Pierce had just the thing for Yasha. “Oh, Button, on my way out of the house, I grabbed a few pieces from the bedroom safe.”

Steve went back to eating. Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he envisioned the top of Aleksandr’s head exploding.

You peered at the little blue velvet bag your father set down on the counter.

“Since everyone will be coming, I brought over some family jewelry from my mother and your mother’s family. Okoye will be wearing our family pieces. So I think it’d look nice. You and her only wearing our family pieces. For me? Yes?”

For a second you paused, yet you gave him a smile and went back to your scooping dumplings. 

Usually you didn’t wear a ton of jewelry. Earrings. Maybe a necklace on occasion. Two rings when you weren’t cooking. All of which were in your bedroom, safe from the dough and meat filling. A ring you’d found at a neat little antique mall a few years ago. Along with a stunning ring full of diamonds and pink gold that you wore on the other hand and wrong finger, that Yasha had given you. Not an engagement ring, just a ring he thought was beautiful and suited you, like all the jewelry he gave you. From the diamond studs in your ears, to the necklace with an old pre-communist Russian coin dangling on it. 

Yasha gave you a lot of things, took care of you, but…you weren’t married, you weren’t even an official couple. Not that it mattered. You didn’t need labels. You loved one another deeply. Labels meant nothing. Nada. Nope. Nothing.

“Of course Daddy. I’ll wear grandma’s jewelry for you.”

It hadn’t escaped Pierce’s notice either.

A suitable amount of digging had been done somewhat recently, to see just how serious this thing was, that seemed to have been going on for an interminable amount of time. Neither you nor Yasha had been openly dating anyone for years.

Aleksandr needed answers.

Yasha paid for your apartment. Yasha paid your bills. Yasha paid for everything.

It was offensive was what it was.

It wasn’t how Aleksandr was raised. He was your father, he was your protector, it was his job to take care of you and your needs, until you started your own family. It was his job to make sure that your future partner be good and loyal to you, fair and respectful and loving.

Yasha was doing things that he had no right to be doing, not without asking for the honor. It was a privilege to take care of his daughter and until Yasha asked for it, you would be wearing your family jewelry. You were still a Pierce. 

***

You had thousands of dumplings to make.

Thousands.

Carol was one of the few female members of the Romanov Crime Syndicate, marrying into that family, which meant everyone would be attending tomorrow. 

_Everyone._

Later that evening was the reception, which would be smaller but still catered afterwards, a small intimate gathering for just those at the top to celebrate this joining of families within the large syndicate. 

Food was needed and being prepared by yourself and others for that night and tomorrow. You were doing your infamous family recipe, while others were doing their respective family’s famous dish, dessert or drink.

Your fridge was packed.

Yasha’s fridge was packed.

You were out of space and had hundreds of these dumplings cooling, along with more to make. So you texted Yasha to ask what to do. As your parent’s home would be packed. You’d already called. Your father’s longtime mistress, whom you and all your brothers called mom at this point, had answered the phone to let you know, in no uncertain terms, that she’d been making _expletive_ dumplings all _expletive_ night and was _expletive_ done with your _expletive_ father and his _expletive_ dumplings. 

Your father loved women. All women. Big women, small women, white women, brown women, tall women, all women. He’d been married either twelve or fourteen times, all depending on whether you believed marriages in Las Vegas, or Canada, counted. All your siblings were from different wives and currently, he was determined to convince Okoye to marry him. He hadn’t had any luck over the last thirty-odd years, but he was determined. 

Before you’d gotten off the phone with Okoye, she told you she’d filled your two older brother’s fridges and suggested you try the restaurant.

Leading you to text Yasha.

As expected, he’d pulled through for you.

After fifteen years together, you would have been shocked if he hadn’t. So you weren’t too surprised when he came moseying into your apartment, not too long after lunch, nor were you stunned when Steve trailed not far behind.

Where there was one the other was never far.

“Babe…” he called out as you finished packing up the last container. “…I’m just going to let you know. There is a high probability, that I’m going to murder your father before the weekend.”

Making you roll your eyes.

Once the wedding was over, you were convinced, everything would get back to normal. Things were just stressful, a bit out of the usual swing of things.

Yasha appeared in your kitchen. “You’ll visit me in jail. Right?”

That earned him a look, sent over your shoulder as he approached with what seemed like romantic intent. 

Reaching for you. Kissing your cheek.

“I always do,” was your response. “But if you kill my only surviving biological parent, I’m not gonna lie. It will put a damper on our relationship. I’ll probably ghost you for a day or two.” Three possibly.

You were ready to go. Ready to bounce. Ready to drop off several hundred dumplings, so you could get back to your apartment to start the final few hundred.

You were not at all expecting Yasha to side up behind you, box you in against your counter, kiss your neck while his hands explored long conquered territory, over the expanse of your yoga pants. It made you laugh and moan and squirm. “Yasha come on. We have things to do today. I do anyway.”

For just a second, you thought Steve might actually be on your side.

Strolling on into the kitchen, his cerulean gaze scanned the countertops for a rogue dumpling. “Yeah Yasha. Focus! We have something important to do this afternoon.”

Foolishly thinking Steve was on the side of propriety, you swatted at hands tugging on your black stretchy pants meant for the gym, although they’d never once been.

“Do it. I’m warming her up for you,” came from over your shoulder, and you weren’t sure which one to focus your growing impatience on.

Yasha.

Definitely Yasha.

Over your shoulder, you nailed him down with a pointed look. “You’re warming me up for him? What a goddamn humanitarian. What are you going to do next? Bake him a cake and suck his dick?”

Teeth.

Teeth sank into the curve of you neck hard enough to make you cry out, wiggle and leave a mark for sure, probably not break the skin, but you’d take a peek in the bathroom before you left.

“Oh I changed my mind Steve. You can definitely fuck her in the ass. Make sure she feels it every time she sits down tomorrow.”

Indeed, the two of them were up to something.

Immediately you began to wiggle, in a valiant attempt to free yourself, with minimal luck. Especially when Steve aided Yasha in the yanking of your shirt over your head, the shoving of your stretchy pants down your hips. You were once more getting tag-teamed by the two of them and while normally you found it to be great fun, you had so many fucking dumplings to make. You did not have time to fuck around with the two of them all afternoon.

“Yasha…Yasha! Steve! Don’t you dare Steve! I have…” 

Off popped your bra and the second that Yasha lifted you up, around your waist, Steve grabbed your feet, yanking off your panties and helping maneuver you out of the kitchen, down the hall and towards your bedroom, as you threatened them both to within an inch of their lives.

Dumplings!

You had dumplings to make!

Rough stubble rubbed over your shoulder, as they made entry into the bedroom. “Steve has something important to tell you and then we’re gonna make it official.”

And you had absolutely no idea what the hell that was even supposed to mean.

Yasha and Steve tossed you up onto your bed, merely a double, whereas Yasha’s was a king and why you spent so much time next door.

It took a second for you to right yourself and then Yasha was yanking you back against him, reclining back on your pillows, wrapping those powerful arms around you, as you watched Steve undress in seemingly record time. You were pretty impressed. You’d never seen him get undressed that quickly.

“Something important? Are you two off probation?”

Rough hands were on your breasts and the feel of all his clothes, beneath your bare skin, was a contrast that was abrasive, while also…becoming enjoyable. Which was a shame. You REALLY did not have time to fuck around with the two of them.

In response to your guess, Steve snorted in laughter.

Yasha pulled you back against him completely, sinking into your bed, hooking his boots around your ankles to expose you. His mouth hot and wet against the shell of your ear. “Oh sweetheart…that’s not important and we all know we’ll never be off probation.”

Well if that wasn’t the truth nothing was.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you gave him a highly dubious look. Seemingly as always, he needed to shave and his hair was messy but short, always looking like he’d run his fingers through it two dozen times. Your Yasha, James, Bucky, always looked like what he was, someone living a life outside the sphere of normal, acceptable. One look told people he was dangerous, he was not someone to be crossed.

Steve on the other hand, Steve could pass for normal.

Steve had that boy next door charming smile, the personality, a nice haircut and if you could ignore those tattoos on his hands, you’d never be the wiser.

“I suppose that’s true…” you murmured, eyeing the arch of Yasha’s nose, the curve of his lips, leaning back against him as his grip tightened on you, as his hands found your wrists and pulled them down. “You two couldn’t stay out of trouble if your lives depended on it.”

He smirked at you, knowing what awaited you, knowing what Steve had to tell you.

His dick ached in the confines of his jeans but he was going to remain clothed as long as possible, enjoy the sight of his best friend and his girl. He loved watching Steve make you scream. He loved to watch Steve make you dick drunk. He loved how messy the two of them could make you. For him and Steve, there was no such thing as sloppy seconds, only endless continual fucking till the three of you could go no more.

Although, before, he always went first.

You were his girl after all. Bucky always went first and always got your ass. It had taken him years to convince you to give it up. There was no way in hell Steve was getting your ass unless he was in it for the long haul, not after all the begging and pleading and negotiating he’d put into the cause. Fuck no. 

Steve climbing up on the bed got your attention, turning your head.

Made you look over the second massive man in your bed, decorated with tattoos on his arms, his front and back, his knees and hands and calf. He was naked too and god was he just a specimen of human perfection, both of them were honestly. You had no idea how you lucked out.

Steve inched your way on long ass legs that seemed to go on forever. Covering his chest and nearly stretching down to his navel was an almost complete two headed eagle, one talon clutching a sword and the other a pistol. Intricate detailing down to individual feathers, coloring on the beak, eyes, each toe and claw had taken years to get done. Wings stretched up over his collarbone and shoulders, a few feathers trailed down along his spine. 

The basilica on Yasha was nearing completion too. Each spiral designed differently from the others and in so many shades of grey and black, it made your head spin.

“Bucky and I were talking…” Steve told you, looking you over like a child would look at a map of theme park, in preparation for optimal ride success. 

Your dubious expression remained unchanged, only leveled at Steve now as Bucky held you to him, effectively pinning you down, if it could even be said. As many dumplings awaited you. You could spare five or ten minutes. Hell, if you put your mind to it, you could so pull off a quickie with these two and sneak in a post-coital snack from the fridge and get your dumplings done. And it wasn’t like you weren’t already feeling all kinds of bad for Yasha over your father. You had to make that up to him and sucking the life out of him through his dick, well, that seemed like a great place to start.

Cocking his head to the side, Steve reached down and you jumped back against Yasha when you felt Steve touch you. Reverently slide his fingers between your folds, spread around warm wetness you knew was starting to come, because Yasha knew your body like the back of his hand. Spreading you open like this to Steve, exhibiting you and trapping your hands in his, it was like an aphrodisiac for you.

“Goddamn you’re wet and we haven’t even touched you.”

Had it been years ago, had you been in your twenties, you would have been embarrassed, possibly even ashamed. But you weren’t that young anymore. You’d grown and evolved as a person and a sexual creature and come to peace with certain things about your life.

1\. You’d never have a normal life or normal friends.  
2\. You and Yasha would never be able to have a normal relationship as long as your father was alive, alive and convinced he’d find just the normie to give you the white picket dream.  
3\. You’d never ever ever be able to master the art of parallel parking.  
4\. You most certainly were a woman who loved sex. You loved sex with Yasha. You loved kinky sex. You even loved sex with Yasha and Steve.

“You haven’t seen anything. We’ll tie our girl to the bed this weekend. She loves it. Ain’t that right?”

The thought of Yasha and Steve and getting tied to a bed. Well. You let out a little noise at the thought, one that confirmed you were amendable to the proposition. Still feeling the heat of Yasha’s words against your ear, you nodded too.

This was your life.

It was a simple life, but it was yours and you were happy, content. You had a nice apartment. You had a loving boyfriend. You had a successful catering business and a family who loved you. It may not have been grand, but it was yours and you were happy.

“Doll, Buck and I discussed this at great length.”

Your eyebrows went up.

What in the hell had the two of them discussed at any length?

“I want to make this permanent. I want to be a part of your relationship. I want it to be the three of us together from now on.”

At first, you didn’t believe it.

Pinned to the front of Yasha, you looked back over at him, to see that he was serious too.

Steve was serious, too serious.

You looked back at Steve, who went on.

“This has always been right. I keep coming back here because this is where I belong. Nothing else felt right. The three of us, that’s right. This is what I want, this is the family I want to make and the future I want.”

And you didn’t believe it.

More than a little shocked, you looked back to Yasha. Indeed he seemed serious. There was not a hint of anything other than sincerity on that chiseled face of his. “It’s true. It’ll be just the three of us. He’s selling his condo and moving in. You. Me. Steve.”

Still, you were not buying it.

Your eyebrows met as you looked between the two men, not at all concerned. You hardly noticed Steve begin to stroke his very erect member, eye up the most holy of places between your thighs. 

“I don’t believe you two.”

Which Bucky totally expected, anticipated, warned Steve about when they discussed this exact moment. “Babe I’m serious. Steve’s serious. I’m gonna let him have your ass.”

Your skepticism turned into something else as that sunk in.

Steve had laughed when Bucky told him that would be the only way to convince you that the two of them were serious, and even then, Steve was going to have to do some more convincing. More acts of goodwill were needed to make up for the past.

And then you could feel the tip of Steve push through your slippery lips.

Yes you were wet. Yes you were turned on. Bucky held onto your wrists tightly, his denim clad legs spread your thighs open obscenely wide. So wide you could feel your arousal trickle down along your slit and over the crack of your ass, down onto your sheets.

Yes you could take him but god was he big and you were surprised, distracted by the two of them.

Your breath came out in a punch as Steve steadily pushed himself in, not fast or rough, but steadily, at a slow pace that did not pause as your body fought to acclimate. Bucky held you tight to him, felt you arch back into him, could feel your thighs shake as you attempted to get a feel for the intrusion.

“All the way down. Show her who her pussy belongs to. I wanna hear our girl screaming before you get near her tight plump ass.”

Encouraged, Steve rolled his hips and bottomed out, sinking in those last final inches with a hard bop and you yelped, you cried out at the fireworks in your eyes and heat blooming in your chest.

It was all sensation.

You were spread open as far as you could go, filled as deeply as possible and stretched out to your limit. Feeling Steve’s thighs against yours, the tickle of his public hair on your mound. Yasha took both of your hands in one of his behind your back, presenting your chest up to Steve. Holding a rough tattooed hand over your mouth. Slipping his thumb in between your lips. 

And Steve was appreciative.

God did your tits look amazing, as if served up on a platter just for him as your pussy squeezed him like a damn vice, so wet and warm and tight. Experimentally he popped his hips in, rocking your body, making your breasts jiggle and sway. The feel alone of you tightly moving up and down his shaft made him hiss. All the noises that came out of you were made guttural because of Bucky’s thumb. He was already leaking inside of you.

Oh hell was it a turn on for you too. You could hear how wet you were with each squelching noise Steve pulled from you as he set up a steady rhythm. Thrusting in, withdrawing, in…out, in…out, smack smack smack, each smack a wet harmony of your bodies coming together, pulling little cries and noises from you. Grunts from Steve.

Yasha’s thumb brushed over your tongue as Steve began to bottom out in you each time, hitting your cervix on every thrust, making you see stars and whine as he began to lick your breasts and nipples eagerly, sloppily, kiss your throat and lick the side Yasha wasn’t on.

“ _Feel good princess? Feel good when Steve fucks you like this, hard and fast? Feel good with him inside of you?_ ”

Frantically you nodded, cried out that it did around his hand, only mumbling and making his hand sloppy with your saliva as Steve grabbed one of your breasts, preventing it from jostling and flopping like the other with every powerful motion into you. Sopping noises filled your ears. Yasha’s grip on your thighs grew tighter as you began to coil, grew slick with sweat. As Steve began to play with your clit with his other free hand.

“ _Steve’s gonna fill you up. I’m gonna fill you up. You’re gonna be filled up with the both of us all day today. Your panties are gonna be wet all day today with our cum. You’re not gonna be able to sit down without thinking about us today._ ”

Beneath Yasha’s slippery hand you cried out and whined, tried to tell him you were close, tried to tell him yes. Tried to tell him you wanted to feel the both of them dribbling from you all day.

Each word spurred Steve on, till he was bouncing you off Bucky. Each word filled his head with debauched images. In his mind’s eye he could picture his cum, Bucky’s cum, in your panties, smeared around your pink flesh all day, marking you as theirs and soon, one day, you’d have their kids. 

He and Bucky had talked about it, starting a family of their own, both of them fathers of your kids, never knowing if they were his or Bucky’s, instead being their sons and daughters. As soon as you got that thing taken out of you.

Both men knew the second you came. 

Steve could feel you tighten around him, your pussy angrily milking him as you screeched out a muffled cry behind Buck’s hand as he continued to pound away at you, furthering your orgasm, stretching it out as far as he could. As you arched back into Yasha, trembled and shook in his arms, your pelvis shuddering against his own clothed erection.

You broke.

Steve broke you.

Your body shut down as it came apart on a cellular level, parts of you that you didn’t know existed spasmed and constricted in your orgasm. Against your will, your body contorted and only distantly were you aware of the fact that you were being moved, adjusted, turned, flipped over.

Your hands were free and then, sadly, Steve was no longer in you. You mumbled and whined at the loss, feeling nothing as your walls clenched at emptiness, until you weren’t empty.

“Fuck…” came out of you in a huff, a grunt perhaps.

Yasha was kissing your face and it was his dick pushing its way back into you, into your aching messy pussy, shoving all the air out of your lungs because there was no way there was room for anything else. Not with Steve’s fingers sliding around the tight ring of your second hole. 

So wet and messy everywhere, you panted and whined when his finger pushed in, meeting resistance from your sphincter and the pressure from Yasha’s thick bumpy member, bottoming out inside of you. Oh Yasha. You’d recognize his cock if you were blind. 

In the opposite position from earlier, you rested on the front of Bucky as Steve inched up behind you, stretched your ass

You gasped and held his soft blue eyes, listening to Yasha tell you how good you were doing and how good they were going to make you feel, how fucking amazing you felt all tight around him.

Thank goodness you’d taken Yasha earlier. That was the only way you were able to bear it.

When Steve pressed the tip of his member against your tender ass, Yasha kissed you deeply, taking the shout from you. Taking your nails in his shoulders as he ruthlessly played with your clit, rocking you on his cock just how you liked, just how he knew made you feel good. Each round metal barbell spearing his cock rubbed your sensitive walls, making you cry with each upwards pump. 

Neither man was small, both men were in the above average camp with Yasha being thicker where Steve had an inch or so in length. Steve though, shit, Steve fucked you like you were still back in high school, he had the stamina and endurance of a hopped-up high school athlete. Sex with Steve was rough and exciting and heart pounding and god could he just fuck the life out of you. And then Yasha, your Yasha, sex with him never grew old or stale. It always was like a new dark, wicked twist and turn. How this man could take you apart, piece by piece, do something new to you each time that made you scream and howl and wetter than the last, appeasing a twisted dark place inside of you that was not appropriate for a decent woman.

“ _Focus on me princess. Feel that? I put them back in for you. Feel me. Focus on me. Relax and let Steve in. You feel them? Each of them?_ ”

Oh you did feel them.

And while it was hard to not focus on the feeling of Steve, splitting you open on top of Yasha, sinking fingers into your ass cheeks and squeezing, you did as Yasha asked and nodded, you focused, you looked down into blue as he rocked you onto his girth.

You felt every last one of them. Every bar that he had piercing his dick for you, for him, just because. Three down by his tip and one that stroked your clit.

And yes, oh how they had hurt, but Yasha was not opposed to pain. Maybe he enjoyed it just a little, like you did.

You didn’t last.

How could you?

What with his thumb rubbing around your slippery clit, his thick erection shoved up against your cervix, rubbing your g-spot and the piercings stroking. Plus, that monster Steve called a penis up your ass. You came deeply. Eyes rolling up into your head, moaning like some sort of wounded animal, fingernails digging sharply into his shoulders.

Both he and Steve held you for the second orgasm that finished you off.

Steve’s hands wrapped around your waist. Yasha sank fingers into your hair and kept rocking you on his cock steadily. Neither man lasted particularly long after you. Not with how tightly your body clenched down on the both of them in your unraveling.

Coming deeply inside of you, Steve hissed out and pumped against the curve of your ass until he fell out, sagged down to his knees and watched for a moment or so, until his release began to escape from you in thick clumps. Bucky came nearly out of you, between rocks, your cunt so wet already from Steve’s cum and your own arousal. Bucky came and some was pushed up into you from his bulbous head, while some gushed out on an upwards movement. Smearing down over his thick pulsing organ as his sac tightened and gave up what felt like everything.

Somewhere, down by his boots, out of eyesight, as your head plopped down on his chest and Bucky rested back on your pillows, Steve’s voice drifted up.

“ _For the life of me…_ ” he gasped, watching both of your holes release both himself and Bucky, chest sweaty and heaving. “ _…I cannot fucking believe you got your dick pierced while I was dating Sharon. You are thirty-five goddamn years old._ ”

All Bucky could do was pant contentedly, stroke your hair as you came down on his chest and press his lips against your damp forehead. You were awake, just out of it.

“ _Did it hurt?_ ”

That, Bucky did answer, eventually, as he heart slowed down from its race and his breathing evened, his body becoming limp beneath yours from his climax. “ _A little bit._ ”

****

Justin Hammer was bored.

God was he bored.

He’d come all this way from Chicago for a big wedding that wasn’t even his cousin Tony’s, or having anything to do with his Uncle Howard. Well, you know, unless you counted that it was the wedding between the daughter of the head of all Russian Organized Crime, on the Eastern Seaboard and beyond. 

Needless to say, his parents had made the trip to pay their respects and congratulations and any excuse to see Howard.

Not that he cared.

He got free airfare. He got free food and accommodations. 

So, unlike his cousin Tony, he hadn’t excelled quite as far in the world of organized crime. Was it his fault that no one recognized his brilliance? Was it his fault that back home everyone was jealous, and, or threatened by him? Justin would have been running things back home. His family and friends were just keeping him down and once things cleared up with his court case, he’d show everyone.

Until then, he was just cooling his heels, bored, not allowed in the back of the restaurant where all the business went down.

It wasn’t fair.

Here he was, stuck in this old family style restaurant, in the greatest city in the world, not allowed to go talk business with the big fish, not able to go out on the town since he ran out of cash a few days ago. He couldn’t even pay for one of the girls at the restaurant that were just zipping around, bringing drinks and food to the guys, keeping them company, doing whatever in the back. The restaurant looked like a hovel outside and was not open to the public. Inside, it was neat and kept up, a front, the Batcave one could say.

Bustling noises got his attention from the kitchen, mere feet away, leading Justin to look up and then avoid all eye contact with a big tall muscular figure. One he knew simply as Winter, who came through the kitchen doors. Absolutely nothing but bad news and brutality that Hammer wanted absolutely no part of. He’d heard all about Winter. Nope. He wanted as much space between him and that psycho as humanly possible.

When Winter, or James…Yasha, Bucky, whatever he was currently going by, vanished into the back of the restaurant, Justin slid from behind the bar.

He moseyed on into the commercial kitchen, through the swinging doors.

Full of women.

Typical.

Working girls with containers of dumplings. Russian was floating around him excitedly, as a few girls cracked the lid on one container and stole a few, then made faces of bliss that looked fake to him.

Although, before he could give that much thought, he noticed a yoga pant wearing creature, bent over at the waist, reorganizing one of three fridges, shouting out to someone in the walk-in in Russian.

Hammer really should have been better about learning Russian.

But this creature before him. Curvy in all the right places, just how he liked, wearing expensive shoes and a Cartier watch on her wrist, as another girl brought in two more containers of dumplings.

Having no idea why this waitress, or hooker, or both was dressed so differently, Justin sided up behind her, earning hostile looks from the girls he’d been harassing earlier. 

One of them said something to the fine ass before him, getting her attention, but not before Justin moved in and reached out for you.

You nearly died.

As it was, you were going to have a lump on your head from banging it on the massive, stainless-steel, fridge.

Someone touched you.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

Someone grabbed you from behind. 

Someone put their hands on you.

Someone reached between your legs and grabbed you, in a place that only Yasha, Steve and your Gynecologist had your express permission to touch.

Not only did you bang your head something spectacular on the fridge, but, when you turned, you straight up pimp-slapped the dude before you without a second thought.

You had no idea who the fuck this asshole was in your bubble, but, you were a Pierce. A Pierce! You were Aleksandr Pierce’s daughter, his only daughter! Your brothers were members of the Romanov Criminal Empire too, for fucks sake. No one touched you. No one grabbed you. No one put their motherfucking hands on you. You rarely came down here, since you were not a member of the particular organization. But, on the rare occasion you did, no one so much as gave you a questionable expression, because, you were Aleksandr Fucking Pierce’s daughter.

The back of your hand stung like a motherfucker too, from hitting this fool.

A fool he was too.

Before you could say a thing, he hit you.

Nay, not just hit, he straight up punched you in the face, hard enough you saw stars. Sending you stumbling back as pain exploded in your face, feeling as if the side of your face had been ripped open. Then screaming. Oh dear god the screaming. Not from you. You heard Natasha’s girls scream and run from the kitchen, yelling, nay, shrieking for your father, as your free hand reached around for the counter to steady yourself, as you stumbled back.

Your other hand held your stinging face as something warm smeared on your palm.

This dude came at you again, fist up, raised, poised for a second blow.

“What the fuck are you doing! Get the hell away from her!”

Steve.

Oh thank god.

Right, he was in the cooler, tossing in everything that had the ability to be frozen, to make room for dumplings.

Unable to speak from a mix of shock, pain and a fine sprinkling of disbelief. All you could do was look at him and point, gesture at this strange man you’d never seen before and hope Steve could connect the dots.

Fortunately for you, Steve had those dots connected in a second.

It could have been your bloody nose. It could have been Tony’s useless cousin, winding up to punch you, most likely again. Or the gash in your cheek from the monster ring on his fist, smeared with blood.

Immediately, Steve reacted.

On long legs he crossed the kitchen from the walk-in and was between you and Tony’s cousin, Dustin…Justin…Austin? He couldn’t remember. Nor did he even care. He was going to kill this son of a bitch with his bare hands.

Hammer attempted to run, bolt for the doors.

Steve cut him off. 

Faster. Angrier. Taller.

You almost screamed when Steve’s first blow landed, hitting the grabby man right in the face and snapping his head back. You literally saw his nose break, blood pour out and Steve’s second blow was even more brutal. Something broke. You heard something break. You heard raised voices from outside the kitchen, in the restaurant, as you just stared, horrified, stunned, suddenly not so aware of the fire in your face, the blood dripping from your own face.

Hammer. Dustin Hammer.

That didn’t sound quite right…

That might have been the guy’s name? It came to Steve right after he broke his nose, when the man grabbed his face and broke free, panicking, attempting to get away from him which was such a joke. Steve was going to rip this Hammer asshole apart.

Not allowing him to go far, Steve grabbed his arm, yanked him back and proceeded to hurl him up onto the stove, making you scream. Scream when your assailant hit hard enough to shatter the oven door, break the stovetop and destroy the appliance. Totally caving it in with a human being. Heatproof glass cracked, spiderwebbed and Steve was already approaching him. Murderous intent in those stunning blue eyes.

Someone shouted, someone else anyway.

You noticed movement and saw familiar faces hurry into the kitchen. 

Their timing impeccable.

Tony and your brother Luis ran right over to Steve, as your assailant screamed like his life depended on being heard by whales off shore. 

Ok, so sure, Steve had grabbed a cast iron skillet hanging from the ceiling and looked about ready to blunt force trauma Mister Grabby a good old-fashioned lesson.

Your hands were up over your mouth as it took Tony and your brother, plus Scott and a couple tatted up guys you didn’t recognize, to get between Steve and who turned out to be Tony’s cousin Justin. To grab the skillet from Steve and get some semblance of control over the situation, if that could even be said.

“I didn’t know!” Justin was screeching, doing his best to get as far away from Steve, still on top of the stove, as humanly possible. As blood steadily dripped from his horribly broken nose. It also became obvious to you, that he was missing at least one tooth too. “I had no idea she was with him! I wouldn’t have touched her! I didn’t know he was fucking her! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

And you were feeling just super bad.

Tony did his best, along with Scott, to calm Steve, defuse the situation.

Clearly, so far beyond done, Steve shouted right back at the Hammer man, up on the stove, sounding pretty serious. “What are you fucking stupid! What does that have to do with anything! Keep your goddamn hands to yourself asshole! I swear to god, next time I set eyes on you, I’m breaking every fucking bone in that body of yours! Until you learn not to put your hands on things that belong to me!”

Clearly Steve was just having none of this whole ‘calming down’ nonsense, and you were beginning to notice a few looks getting sent your way.

Your brother being one of those faces that you did your very best to ignore.

Helpful as always, Tony’s hands went up. Eldest son of Howard Stark, a member as high ranking as your own father. 

“Ok Steve…first of all, no one in this room knew that you and Pierce’s daughter were a thing…”

Leading Justin to look even more horrified, if it were even possible.

And then, because your afternoon had not yet exploded into a big enough fireball, the kitchen doors swung open yet again, to reveal not just your father, but Yasha and Yasha’s Dad Hank. 

Because why not?

Upon recognizing your father, Justin’s self-preservation mode kicked right in. Each word he expelled came with blood, that had you feeling really bad for whoever was going to have to clean the floor.

“I’m sorry Mister Pierce! I am so sorry! I had no idea she was your daughter or fucking that psycho! I am so sorry! I’ll never touch another woman again!”

Because you clearly had not suffered nearly enough.

Nope.

There seemed to be more misery abound for you.

Your mouth opened, gaped, you had no idea what to say, or clue as to why your father looked so confused, so upset at the sight of you. Yet, what came out of his mouth nearly sent you to your knees. 

“Wait…no…she’s dating Yasha?” Your father then looked over at Yasha, who seemed to be connecting dots just as quickly as Steve. “Right? I thought she was dating you?”

Silver haired Hank Pym frowned. Totally at a loss.

Not hesitating even for one second, Bucky nodded, “Yeah, we’re together.”

More confusion, a few heads looked around from you to Bucky to Steve and your father, Hammer too, because why not?

Oh so much misery.

“Wait…” Tony frowned, tattooed hands waving as he did he best to make things worse for you, in the clarification of your love life. “Wait, so, you’re fucking Steve and dating Bucky?” 

Just how much misery was there for you?

What you would have given for Hammer to hit you in the face again, and just knock your ass out.

Steve looked about ready to hit Tony, as Yasha so helpfully snarled at his fellow criminal. “No asshole. We’re all together and if you have any more clever observations, come right over here and say them to my face Stark.”

It was your father’s confusion that just did you in, as Hank and Yasha began to argue, as Steve began to shove at Tony, who had obtained possession of the aforementioned skillet.

“Button? Is that…is that true? Are you and Yasha and…Steve…together?”

You didn’t say a word.

You didn’t nod, or shake your head.

Instead, you began to cry, which spoke volumes. 

It was all the confirmation Aleksandr needed. Your mother had been the same way when cornered, overwhelmed.

Your father just slammed that final nail in your coffin, when he spoke once more, realizing what it was that was going on between you and Yasha and Steve. “Is this…is this because of me? Did I do something wrong as your father? Is this cause I never bought you a pony as a child? Do you want a pony? Because I’ll buy you one. I’ll do whatever I can to fix this and make everything go back to normal again.”

And that was right around the time Steve and Tony came to blows.

To top all that off, you still had a few hundred more dumplings to make.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::::Hello friendly readers!! So...you may have noticed...I added another chapter because I lost my damn mind and wrote nearly 11000 words and still have the ending to do. *Facepalm* I can't even with myself either. And whoever commented about the bed scene in the previous chapters comment section, I hadn't forgotten about that, that'll be in chapter 3. Due to thanksgiving, I'll wrap this up in December. Thank you for all the wonderful comments for this little side adventure with our boys!!::::
> 
> *****And a little CONTENT WARNING for the discussion of slut-shaming and family dynamics including children born outside of wedlock. I don't know if that is worthy of a content warning, but it is discussed here and it could be upsetting I think, possibly, idk, but the warning is up, there is also some murder and dismemberment too, almost forgot about that...****
> 
> Also, italicized is Russian being spoken.

Hank Pym stared down at the two grown men on his couch.

Yasha and Steve.

The son he’d had with his mistress and a young man that was practically his son, considering how much time Steve’d spent under his roof.

Both men were grown, considerably taller than him and could have easily overpowered him with one arm tied behind their backs. Not that they would. He’d raised them better than that. He’d raised them to be good, loyal, strong men.

He did not raise them to do whatever the hell it was that they had done.

Either of them.

Each time one of them opened their mouths, Hank’s weathered hand came up, decorated with faded tattoos, silencing them as he paced around, walked from one end of the living room to the other. Gazing at pictures of his family. Peering out the window that looked over the fence at Aleksandr’s house. Looking back at pictures, then the floor as he paced, walked, wandered back and forth, back and forth.

Hank was not raised like this.

Sure, he’d grown up in America like Aleksandr. Both men being born in the motherland but having come as children, grown up in the states. Both men had been raised in a similar home, in the church, in their tightknit community. But this…this was not something that happened. Mistresses and girlfriends, yes. He could not wrap his head around this…this…this thing that his sons were doing.

Finally, face pained behind his glasses, the silver haired man turned and faced his two boys.

He looked between the two of them a couple times.

Hank opened his mouth and then shut it. He clasped his hands behind his back. Tilting his head upwards, he searched for the words. Finally settling on, “Yasha, Steve…you do realize…the church does not recognize plural marriage? All three of you cannot be married to each other.”

Silence.

Two sets of blue eyes stared back at him.

“Ok, I was just checking, making sure you two knew that. Because it seems the two of you are a bit fuzzy on some fundamentals that should be very clear to you.”

Steve’s mouth opened. Yasha shifted on the couch.

Hank’s finger went back up.

Steve’s mouth shut tightly. Yasha leaned back against the cushions, palms spreading out on his thighs.

Looking between the two of them, Hank found himself unable to understand. Surrounded in a well lived in room, full of family pictures and paintings of Moscow. Figurines that his wife collected were on the big piano. A bookcase held books in both English and Russian. And there, on his couch, his only grown surviving son and one he wanted so desperately to be his own. Steve’s father had been useless, a drunk. Hank took the golden-haired child under his arm and taught him what he taught his own son about how their world worked. When Steve was old enough, Hank had been the one to sponsor the blonde along with his own Yasha. Their world wasn’t open to outsiders. Only young men from families already involved in the crime family could be invited to join. It was a lengthy and grueling process. But these two had made it, just as they had gotten through everything since childhood, together.

“I mean…I didn’t think I would ever have to say these words to you two. I never thought I would have to say these things, but, don’t fuck Pierce’s daughter! And don’t do it together! For god’s sake! That man launders our money! We have numerous business arrangements together! You two have to work with her brothers on a daily basis! We cannot allow your dicks to fracture that relationship! You two, of all people, know how much money they clean for us and the last thing we need, is a blood feud with them!”

Of which both Bucky and Steve understood. It was a very real reality of what they’d done.

“Are you two having sex,” Hank demanded, however, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he found he didn’t want to know. Not with the completely neutral expressions on the faces of the men before him. “No. Wait. Don’t tell me. Don’t say anything. I don’t want to know. I already know too much about your sex lives.”

And he couldn’t see it.

Hank wondered if he had missed something. His boys had never given him any indication that they were doing something so depraved with you. Steve dated. He knew Steve dated. Steve dated quite a bit. He’d had his suspicions about his own son. Long ago he’d decided that if Yasha was gay, he wouldn’t care. It was his son. His seed. His heir. He’d never seen Yasha with a woman, or a man. It was becoming a little concerning. A devout man like Aleksandr, he knew the stances that his faith had on sex outside of marriage and he himself danced on that line. But this, this could not be allowed. Marriage in the Orthodox tradition was between one man and one woman, not two men and one woman.

“How…how did this even happen?”

A look passed between Yasha and Steve.

Shrugging from where he rested in the cushions, Bucky spoke. “With me. I started to date her first and over the years, Steve would join us…when he wasn’t dating someone else. We love each other.”

At that last part, Hank made a noise of disgust. 

Once more, he began to pace. “For how long? How long have you and Aleksandr’s daughter been dating?”

A pause.

Not hesitation.

Hank looked to the darker haired figure on the couch, who appeared to be doing quick math. 

“Eighteen years. I was seventeen when we started going out.”

Never in his entire life had Hank ever saw red. Never had he experienced that complete possession of anger that men claimed overwhelmed them, allowing them to do unspeakable things. Before he knew it, he was yelling and shouting. He was marching across the room.

A wall of something stopped him from grabbing his son to throttle him.

“Are you serious? Are you serious! You’ve been involved with Pierce’s daughter over half your life? That asshole has been putting the screws to me with the rate he charges our family! We could have had the family rate Yasha! We could have had a wedding in the church! We could have had an arrangement, an agreement, we could have had formed a majority years ago, instead of Howard! I could have grandchildren! Oh my god…do you have children? You don’t have children hidden somewhere? Do you?”

Strong arms held Hank back and Yasha stood, easily towering over his father but speaking softly, quietly, stoically. “No, we don’t have children. We didn’t want our children to have this. We didn’t want any of this. We just wanted to have a life to ourselves.”

Hank blinked. He blinked and looked to Steve, then back at Yasha. “That’s not the way it works son. We’re a family. That’s what makes us strong. That’s what makes us more than a street gang, what keeps us together and landed us on top here. You don’t get to decide that, I didn’t get to decide that and neither did my father.” 

Neither would Yasha or Steve’s sons, though unsaid, it hung there in the air, between the three men.

When Yasha remained silent, so silent, silent like his mother, Hank asked, “Where do you see this going? This relationship with the…three of you? You can’t all get married. Aleksandr is going to throw a fit if you two show up at his door. Everyone knows now. Everyone knows what you’re doing in bed.”

Yasha was silent. Defiant. 

“We bought a house,” Steve stepped in, as usual, between father and son. “We’re going to stay together and no one will say anything, if they know what’s good for them. And you’re going to help convince Aleksandr that this is ok.”

Hank’s eyebrows reached the clouds.

He actually stepped back so he could look Steve over, he baulked and put his hands on his hips. The tattoos on his knuckles needing to be touched up. The one on the back of his hand too. It had bled a bit from time.

“A house? You bought a house and all three of you plan to live there?”

Silence. Glaring chilling silence.

Silence that usually only the enemies of the Romanov Syndicate were privy to. And had he not raised Yasha, changed his diapers, taught him to ride a bike and watched him receive his first Communion, he would have been intimidated. Even a grown and terrifying man who’d committed violent crimes, Yasha and Steve would always be those little boys in school uniforms, little boys playing hockey out in the street, the little boys who would color their arms with Sharpie tattoos.

Steve nodded, “Yeah. A nice one out on Long Island. Where no one will be the wiser an we can raise our kids in peace.”

To which Hank had a response. “No! You’re not taking my grandchildren away from me! All the way to Long Island! No! There’s a house across the street. I’ll buy that one for the three of you. Our family cannot be that far apart. Aleksandr will come around and he’ll agree. I will make sure of it.”

As if long Island were located right next to Siberia in distance away.

Merely the thought was horrifying. 

Hank’s family meant everything to him.

He would speak with Aleksandr and make him understand. Hank would not allow this to tear his family apart.

Yasha was looking at him like he used to, like he did when he realized that Hank was his father and his mother was his mistress. Back when Hank had no idea if his son would just go off and join the army like he planned, to get out, get away, start over.

Having no idea why Yasha stayed, Hank wasn’t about to let him go all the way to fucking Long Island.

Nope.

“Let’s just go next door. Aleksandr and Kurt left. We’ll go test the waters and see where we stand,” was what Steve suggested.

Hank couldn’t think of a worse idea.

However, that would give him some time to think, plan, regroup, for which he hadn’t had a chance to do since dragging his two boys out of the restaurant. It’d been something of a scene. There had been yelling and shouting and threats and that was before they even made it to the car.

This was just a disaster, an ever-loving disaster.

***

Your father’s lifelong mistress, Okoye, stood by the stove swatting at your brother’s, Dave and Luis, with a wooden spoon. Much in the same way she’d done when you were all children, a shockingly colorful family for the small tightknit community you lived in.

Aleksandr Pierce had been married over a dozen times, some of those marriages may have crossed over a bit. He’d been mostly divorced but was twice a widower. Your mom and your brother’s Luis’s mom, who’d died in her native Mexico suddenly, passing away in a car accident while visiting family.

Okoye had been there for that, she’d been there for it all with no desire to marry Aleksandr.

She was the only permanent maternal figure in your life, Luis’s too.

Dave’s mother was still alive and lived in Manhattan, in a penthouse suite that Aleksandr footed in his divorce settlement. Dave’s mom had been one of your favorite moms and you frequently went into the city to visit her.

“…and if you think that you’re too old for me to beat you, think again Luis. I swear. If you eat one more dumpling, you’ll go to the wedding tomorrow with a spoon print on the side of your face.”

So busy threatening Luis, Dave managed to swoop in and snag a few from the sink, then turn and toss one in his mouth with a tattooed hand. All while you shut the lid on the third to last container you had in the kitchen of your family home. Which now smelled like an herby creamy pork dumpling.

Dave dared you to say something while chewing, daring you with his dark eyes.

In response, you rolled your own.

Whacking noises that distinctly sounded like wood on flesh filled the kitchen, leading you to peer around Dave. Just in time to see Luis throwing his arms up, while Okoye chased him from the kitchen, smacking him quite soundly with a wooden spoon that was older than you.

Fortunately for Luis, he was indeed quicker, plus, sound knocking came from the front door, leading him to hurry over that way as Okoye turned her attention to Aleksandr’s other son. As much as she loved the man, she couldn’t ever marry him. She simply was not the traditional housewife type. She’d stand by his side and help raise his children, even take part in whatever he asked, but she needed her space and freedom.

His kids though.

She’d helped raise all of you and the sight of Dave, grown, cheeks round like a chipmunk and filled with what was no doubt pelmeni, it brought back fond memories.

This man who stood before her was as much her son as his father’s. She’d changed his diapers, she’d fed him, she’d warmed his bottles and helped him with homework. So, he was not from her womb. Did it matter? Threateningly she brandished the wooden spoon at him and you turned your head, so neither of them would see you smile.

Such a smile did not last.

Nope.

Not with your day.

You heard Luis open the front door in the small family home and greet whomever was across the threshold with a rousing. “Hey fuckers! You two got a lotta nerve showing up here after what you did man…no you can’t see my sister, she can’t come out and play right now. You got all of us grounded!”

And it was true.

Upon getting home, you and your three brothers had been grounded. Your father had been so upset, that at the time, none of you had said anything, for fear this would be it and he’d stroke out. Granted you and Okoye always assumed it would be your brothers that would give him that fatal stroke/heart-attack/aneurysm. The one that would do him in from stress or disbelief.

Hearing Yasha, remind your older brother that he was a grown ass man, led you to hurry from the kitchen.

Yasha had to go. Steve too.

Because you knew the both of them were out on the front porch. You just knew it.

Your father and brothers still lived in the small but cozy home you’d grown up in, as it just worked out for them with their line of work and all the nefarious sort of things they were up to, on a semi-regular basis. Of which you didn’t have to worry yourself. A few visits during the week were made to ensure that the four of them were still alive, kicking and not locked up.

The kitchen was not at all far from the front door. Although Luis wasn’t budging from his place in the doorway.

Lucky for you, both of your boyfriends were tall, therefore you were able to see them from over Luis’s arm blocking the doorway, where his body wasn’t.

“I don’t want to see you clowns around here. We just had a visit from the bishop for nearly two fucking hours, expounding on the virtues of celibacy until marriage and regaling us with the benefits of monogamy, with my father’s mistress for company. Do you have any fucking idea how awkward that is? Huh? Do you?” Luis demanded of both your men, as you sort of deflated at the memory. You’d been trying so hard to block it out since the bishop left.

Both Yasha and Steve looked to you. Their blue eyes searching you, looking you over, making you feel exposed and vulnerable and still wanting to go to them, wrap your arms around the two of them and go home. But also, you really just wanted to go crawl into your old bedroom, curl up and get a break from everything.

“Don’t look at her, look at me,” was Luis’s response to that and both heads parroted to your brother, who you couldn’t help but feel an incredible amount of love towards, especially after that visit. Dave and Kurt too, God did you love the three of them. “You two assholes didn’t have to sit here, while an eighty-year-old man gave my grown sister shit for not being a virgin and since we couldn’t have that, we had to tell the bishop about our sex lives too. You know how uncomfortable that is man?”

Had it been uncomfortable? Waterboarding would have been more comfortable.

Granted, hearing your three brothers tell the Bishop, all the sordid sexual things they’d been up to in an act of joint solidarity with you, had been touching. However, now you were all grounded and the bishop was probably never going to be able to look your family in the eye, ever again.

“And next, we gotta go down to the restaurant, to make it damn clear, that there ain’t gonna be no slut shaming my sister. So no, you don’t get to come in or see her. You lost those privileges when you two decided to screw my sister.”

For both Yasha and Steve, that seemed to be the tipping point.

Not only were they feeling like children again, being banned entry from the home that housed you and spoken to by Luis in that manner, but the control that the two of them were so used to was slipping away. Slipping through their fingers.

“No one’s gonna say anything,” Steve snarled at the mere suggestion, making your half Latino brother laugh loudly as Yasha did his very best to catch your eye.

But you couldn’t look at him.

Thinking about having to face everyone tomorrow at the wedding, because by now, everyone knew. Everyone. And it wasn’t that you were embarrassed. You just knew that you were going to get it. Your reputation was no more. Sure, you were a Pierce, so you wouldn’t be completely ruined. But no one would ever look at you the same way again.

That Madonna Whore Complex was alive and well in Little Moscow.

It killed him.

It really did.

Steve began to argue with Luis, allowing Yasha to step to the side, closer to you. Letting him see how your hands gripped your apron. Letting Bucky see the bruise on your face and little scratch from Justin’s ring. You looked defeated. You looked as if the weight of the world rested on your shoulders.

Even if he wasn’t as close to his half-sister as you were to your brothers, he wasn’t stupid. He knew just what everyone would say about you, compared to what they’d say about him and Steve. Gossip was a powerful thing. He grew up a lovechild. He knew all about gossip. He’d heard the remarks about his mom, the sly looks from women and vulgar taunts from men. As far back as he could remember, he and Steve had been fighting with kids because of their parents. Yasha was the son of Hank’s whore, good enough to fuck but not good enough to marry. Steve was that child who went to school in dirty clothes, hiding bruises, no lunch because his father had spent his mother’s paycheck on booze. Until the two boys met, bonded, fought together instead of alone. Bucky would bring an extra lunch to school, clothes and shoes. Steve would help Bucky pass his classes, dyslexia being a bitch and not really a thing when they were growing up.

“No one is going to say a damn thing about your sister!” Steve raged. 

Bucky reached past Luis, brushed his fingers over your hand.

“Are you kidding me! The bishop practically called her the whore of Babylon, until I brought up my three baby-mamas! You don’t even wanna know what Dave had to tell’em to get him off her back! So don’t give me that shit Steve! You’re gonna get high-fives an she’s gonna be lucky if she gets the respect a mistress does!”

You let go of your apron and reached out, rested your fingers in Yasha’s palm, watched his fingers curl over yours and focused on the ornate crown tattoo that covered the back of his hand. His hand was so warm, so strong. It felt so comforting. He squeezed your hand. He laced his fingers into yours until you could finally look him in the eye, so embarrassed, so ashamed, unable to even think straight by that point and being reminded of the bishops visit. Of having to hear about all of Kurt’s numerous girlfriends and Dave’s horrifically sordid confessions, were just the cherry on top of your afternoon.

Needless to say, you were ready for bed.

You were ready to just pull the covers over your head to put an end to this day.

Tomorrow had to be better. Right?

Although facing the bishop tomorrow was not high on your wish list.

Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d come down with pneumonia or something over the night?

Beside you, your brother and Steve grew louder, further just hammering away at you, chipping down on you. And as if he could sense another small piece of you falling away, Yasha stroked the center of your palm with his thumb. He mouthed ‘I love you’ to you.

And, quite roughly, you were shoved aside. Your hand pulled free as Dave came right up beside you, in no damn mood. Shoving Yasha back into Steve. Agitated and angry, Luis’s already fast talk became even faster. “You know, you two need to go now. You two done enough! Sneaking round with our sister man, that’s not cool. I should’a kicked your ass man. Cause now, Luis and I, we gotta go round and be kicking everyone’s ass that talks shit bout her cause’a you two! You two done enough! Beat it! You fool’s should be lucky I don’t have my gun. Man, Kurt got my gun.”

Dave pointed to Luis as he so frequently did.

Luis nodded that it was true. Kurt unfortunately did have his gun.

Dave then slammed the front door and locked it, just in case there was any confusion from your two boyfriends on the other side. You looked between your two brothers, who looked to you.

“There…” Luis declared, “…fixed forever.”

Dave nodded in confirmation.

You highly doubted it was fixed forever, but, you had a ton to do for the wedding.

On the other side of the door, Yasha glared at it something fierce, up until Steve’s phone made a noise. Leading him to look over at his closest friend. 

Steve’s face darkened.

“Who’s that?”

Steve was fussing around with one of his phones. “Tony.”

His attention captured, Yasha cocked his head. “Tony?”

“Yeah…he let me know he’s taking Justin to the airport. Wanted to know if we wanted to come.”

Attention captured and held. “Tony told you all that?”

Nodding, Steve sent a message back, speaking in the process. “Yeah…I told him that someone had to take responsibility for fucking things up for us. It could be him, or Justin.”

“So he’s handing Justin over to us?”

Steve nodded.

“Sometimes, I think you like causing problems and getting in fights.”

Finishing up, Steve looked to Yasha, smirking. “Feel free to stay here and get yelled at by Luis and Dave some more, jerk. Maybe if you ask nicely, Dave will tell you about his sex life too.”

Making a face, he shoved Steve. “Such a little punk. Of course, I’m coming.”

****

You’d elected to stay home, instead of attending the rehearsal dinner, under the guise of making the rest of the dumplings.

Being Aleksandr’s daughter, you’d been invited. All three of your brothers and father went to the dinner, which would be just for the top families, for business related purposes. Weddings and funerals were opportune times for business, within the particular field of work, in which your family was involved.

The Starks and Romanovs and Pyms would be there, plus Carol’s family and you couldn’t face any of them yet. You’d turned your phone off that afternoon and hadn’t been answering the house phone. You just couldn’t make yourself do it.

So you weren’t too surprised when Okoye rolled in a little earlier than you’d expected.

At events such as these, early morning hours were expected.

You didn’t ask how everything went. Nor did you ask anything else. You merely focused on washing dishes in the sink as the dishwasher whirred beside you, listening to Okoye get a glass from the cabinet and then pour herself some wine.

For the life of you, you knew it was coming, you knew she was home early for a reason. 

When eventually she leaned back against the counter beside you, glass in hand, eyeing you quietly, you knew the time had come.

“Did Daddy send you home early to pump me for information?”

Okoye was quiet for a bit. She sipped her wine and ran a hand over the expensive midnight blue dress she had on for the intimate dinner. Rich against her darker skin, making her look even more regal than usual. Her voice was husky and unhurried when she did speak. “No sweet girl. I came to get information for myself. I’ve yet to decide if I’ll share any with your father at this point.”

Making you make a face and turn your attention back to the wooden spoons you were scrubbing.

“They were looking for you at the dinner. Yasha and Steve.”

Of that you had absolutely no doubt.

Contemplatively eyeing the red wine in her glass, she pondered. “I never quite realized how big the two of them were. They’re massive in size. I don’t know how you do it, but I salute you for it.”

Unsure how on earth you were supposed to respond to that, you kept scrubbing. Dough had gotten caked on one and you’d been soaking it. However, it seemed the dough had been dried on there all afternoon. Which was what you got for letting your brothers help. God love the three of them. But, there was a reason why you cooked for a living and they laundered money for a living.

“No one was saying anything.”

At that, you froze.

You’d been dreading what everyone would say, the gossip, the nasty remarks and looks that would certainly come soon, as they always did in tight-knit small communities such as yours.

On Okoye went, as if you were contributing. Although the way your body tensed, how you gripped the wooden spoon and sponge, you were involved in the conversation too. “The two of them went back to the restaurant this afternoon…”

Okoye’s tone alone made you look over at her, hands in the soapy hot water.

Sipping her wine, she went on. Not a care in the world. “Yasha stood up on the bar and put Justin Hammer’s head up on the wall, between two bottles of vodka from the old days. Steve dropped a big trash bag full of the rest of him on the bar, where everyone could see. It was one of those clear bags. You know the kind? The kind that you can see through?”

Yeah, you were familiar with that particular kind of trash bag.

Okoye didn’t look at you though, she twirled her glass, as if at a wine tasting. “From what I heard, the bag was triple bagged or so, being heavy and all. So you couldn’t make out any details. It was just a bloody mess. Apparently, you could tell that he was in pieces.”

While…you weren’t shocked, you’d heard over the years about the brutality that your boys were capable of, it was however a surprise that they’d done such a thing because of you. It made you stare, blink, swallow loudly.

“Yasha stood up on the bar. He told everyone, that you were to be treated with the same dignity and respect, as if you were their wife. He told everyone, that if he heard any sort of talk about you three, from you or anyone, he and Steve would not be as understanding as they had been with Justin. Steve told everyone, if anyone had any comments or issues, that they would be in the back to hear them. From what I heard…no one went to speak with either of them.”

Without a doubt, as you stood there watching Okoye sip her wine, you had no doubt that the little details she just shared were burning their way through Little Moscow, through the phone lines to relatives throughout the country, maybe even further.

You had no idea what to say.

You weren’t even sure what could be said in response.

“Your father is deeply annoyed, as he never had a chance to speak with Justin.”

And that would be just the type of thing that would annoy your father.

“They killed someone for you, for your honor,” Okoye purred, as if reading your mind, because that was exactly where your head was venturing. And then she shrugged, “Granted, they’ve killed people for less.” Which was also very true. At this point in your life, their lives too, you strongly suspected you were just sort of numb to it. Numb to the pervasive violence that had been as normal as coffee in the morning, and a spritz of perfume on each wrist and your neck before you left the house. “You know what this means Button. You of all people know what this means.”

Yeah, you of all people knew what it meant.

It meant that it was not just the three of you anymore. It meant that your lives had become complicated. Yesterday, your life just had a significant amount of moving parts. Now your life was a mess.

Now, your relationship included you and Steve and Yasha…and Yasha’s family and your family. Relationships were never just relationships between your families. Such relationships were perfect opportunities for business and expansion and other nefarious type arrangements that you would probably never know about. It was what your father wanted so desperately to save you from. Your father so desperately wanted you to have a nice, normal, carefree life.

Now, thanks to Tony’s cousin, the relationship that you and Yasha had protected over the years, kept just for you and him and sometimes Steve up until earlier, well, it was dropped on the floor and cracked open like an egg. Now it no longer just belonged to you three. Yasha and Steve no longer belonged only to you, now they were beholden to your father and you were at Hank’s beck and call, should he ask. You would be expected to behave in a certain way. You would never get away from this. 

Yasha and Steve already were in it for life with no way out, but the same could now be said for any children they gave you. Gone was the foolish hope you could have kids and raise them to have lives of their own, free from the traditions and expectations that had stolen your brother’s futures.

If Steve was smart, he’d get the hell away from the two of you and go find himself a nice normal girl. As the beast had finally clamped down on both you and Yasha, and wasn’t letting go.

“So how does it work? Do you do it with both of them at the same time? Or one at a time? Is it good?”

Some side eye was directed at Okoye. “I am not discussing that with you.” 

It would have been too weird.

A contemplative noise came from deep in her throat. “Really? So, it’s that good?”

It was better than that good, but that was private and at this point, you wanted to keep something for yourself. Something had to be only for the three of you now.

****

You were done.

So done.

You’d showered and yanked on some cotton shorts and a t-shirt from your dresser, in the room you’d had as a child and lived in till you moved out. Full of pictures from growing up, of family and places you’d dreamed of going when you became an adult.

Tokyo. Kyoto. Virgin Islands. London. Romania.

Yasha and a couple of times Yasha and Steve, had taken you to all of those places.

Briefly, you contemplated turning on your phone, as dried your hair and climbed into your bed, knocking pillows off and making yourself comfortable. Having grabbed a magazine from downstairs, you needed something to take your mind off things, so you could try to get some sleep. Maybe ‘Guns and Ammo’ was the way to go? If that didn’t put you to sleep, you could always go grab one of Luis’s wine catalogues.

Trying so hard, you did your best to focus on an article comparing new laser sights.

Sadly…all you could think about was Steve and Yasha, Yasha and Steve. All you could wonder was what would tomorrow bring? What would your father say in the morning? What would everyone say, after what the two of them did at the restaurant?

Not focusing at all, your eyes glazed over the article.

_**Tap. Tap. Tap.** _

And the bishop too. 

How could you and your brothers, now that you thought of them, face him tomorrow? He’d be there, officiating the wedding instead of the priest, due to the Romanov family standing.

_**Tap. Tap. Tap.** _

What was going to happen now?

Would you still be able to go away this weekend? Or even home to your apartment? 

_**Tap. Tap. Tap.** _

What in the hell was that noise?

Lowering that month’s issue of ‘Guns and Ammo,’ you looked up to the window in your bedroom. Overlooking the side yard with a ledge you had frequently sat out on growing up.

Yasha was there, tapping on your window.

“Oh you have got to be shitting me…” came from you, your brother’s magazine was tossed aside as you scrambled from your bed, hurried around your bed and to the window. Quickly you unlocked, lifted it up and then hissed, “What are you doing! You are too old to be climbing up onto my roof!”

Rolling his eyes, Yasha reached in to wiggle into your room, through the window and onto the floor with far less grace than he had when you were both teenagers. Leading you to quick grab his feet, so his long legs didn’t smack the floor and alert Okoye. 

Movement caught your attention.

Turning, you were greeted to the sight of Steve, reaching out for the sides of the window. 

“Oh my god!”

The two of them.

Letting go of Yasha, you quick reached out to help guide Steve in, unable to believe what the two of them were up to for a second. Ridiculous was what it was. “What are you two thinking? You could have fallen and got hurt!” You hissed at them both, leading Yasha to answer you somewhat petulantly, as you grabbed Steve’s denim clad legs so he could crawl in safely, without kicking out said window.

“If you would turn on your damn phone, we wouldn’t have to climb up that fucking trellis.” Yasha snapped from somewhere behind you in your room, with a familiarity that only time together brought. And in turn, you stood tall and whipped around, grabbing one booted foot so it didn’t go through your window. All so you could send Yasha a scowl that would make your ancestors proud.

Being in absolutely no mood for his shit, your hand went up and as you were about to inform Yasha just how easily you could replace him with a battery-operated toy, one that now had the ability to suck, Steve grabbed your Hard Rock t-shirt and clambered up to his feet.

“No, no, no, no, no…” he managed, slipping his hands over your face and sinking against you, like he wanted to melt into you. Always one to avoid any sort of domestic squabble of any kind, even as an adult. One of the many things his father had gifted him with that never left. But also because, he didn’t want to risk raised voices. Risk Okoye finding out and calling Aleksandr, who was hours away from leaving when the two of them had slunk away from the Romanov home. He kissed you soundly, aggressively too, sinking fingers into your wet hair as Bucky went and shut the window, then yanked the curtains closed.

He then had the audacity to taunt you, “Yeah…don’t yell, you’ll upset Steve.”

And right when you’d had a second to clear your head too. A second to just fall against Steve and his warmth, his smells, the way he felt against you.

Irritation turning into real anger, you broke away from Steve’s wonderful mouth before you could begin to properly return the affection his lush lips and quick little tongue had begun to soothe you over with, but not before his thick arms came around you. “Don’t mind Bucky. He’s in a mood. He’s been overthinking since everything happened and you know I think he needs?”

You knew exactly what Yasha needed, especially with that unamused look he was sending both of your way.

“A vodka ketamine tonic and a nap?”

Needless to say, your suggestion did little to improve Yasha’s mood and actually had him skulking over to your bed. Quietly of course. Where he plopped down and had the audacity to rest back on your pillows, as well as defiantly put his boots up on your quilts. 

“Perhaps,” Steve did not disagree, his lips pressed against the top of your head, his hands gently stroked your face. He was tender and affectionate, while Yasha was lighting you on fire from the inside. If only you’d been at your apartment. “I think…and this is just my personal opinion, mind you.” Steve pressed on like a trained professional. “You should go over there and pull his pants down for me, so I can get a proper look at what he did to his dick. He’s always in a better mood after he gets a blowjob.”

To which there was only one response from you, as you gave Yasha back when he sent your way in non-verbal communications not fit for decent company. To be honest, you were seconds away from flipping him off. “Steve…I’m not sucking his dick right now.”

Not at all surprised by your statement. Steve peppered kisses down your forehead. “Oh I know. You’re going to keep him quiet and I’m going to suck his dick.”

“That is the last thing I need right now. What I need is for the three of us to come up some type of a plan for tomorrow.” Yasha spat from your bed, all frustrated, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. “My father tried to talk to Aleksandr over dinner and nothing. He’s refusing to even discuss this. He’s convinced you’re going to the wedding with some guy he found in line at Starbucks, because no daughter of his is going to be subjected to this life.”

That was so your father and Yasha, oh your Yasha, so sensitive at times. He was so easy to hurt and wound. Steve’s father had beaten him and broken his bones but never broke his heart. Steve always knew he was wanted, Steve’s family was always whole, dysfunctional but whole. Your Yasha grew up being outside looking in, wanting a family and a father. Wanting to be wanted, and those wounds went deep and had never fully healed. 

“You’ll talk to your father about this? Fix it?” Steve asked of you.

As if he had to even ask.

Looking at Yasha on your bed, hearing him say those words to you, hearing that underlying vulnerability fearfully lingering on each word. Yeah. You’d be speaking with your father. 

“I’ll handle it.”

Steve recognized that in his oldest and closest friend too. Steve had finally gotten what he wanted. He’d finally admitted to himself that he’d only be happy with the two of you and this life. After all the shit he had to deal with, he was more than ready to fight for what he deserved. It had taken him a while. Ok, more than a while. This wasn’t normal. How could he just fit into Bucky’s long relationship with you without feeling like a third wheel, without feeling like he was intruding? 

Yet the second that Steve felt it begin to get tested, pulled on, tugged at…his response was immediate.

No. This was his. This was what he wanted and he wasn’t going to settle for anything less anymore.

Seeing that fear on Buck’s face. It hurt. It hit deep. Like that time he got stabbed in the side protecting the brunette idiot.

That brunette idiot launched forward into a sitting position. His tone low and vicious. “You heard what Aleksandr said! You were there!”

You had no idea what your father said, but it clearly had upset Yasha, shaken him, got under his skin.

Steve looked to you in exasperation. 

Something in you grew, surged. You pulled away from Steve to give Yasha your full ire. “I told you I would handle my father.” 

His gaze darkened. He made a face at you. And on you went, stepping closer with each word. “I moved out and across the hall from you, didn’t I? I got birth control pills when we began having sex, didn’t I? I started my own business and bought my own car. I can handle my father.” When you reached your bed, your hand shot out and grabbed his face, pulling him into a rigidly upright position. Your hand held his jaw tightly. “Leave him to me Yasha.”

God how he looked up at you, those eyes of his burning you. That mouth curved so wickedly, no matter if he smiled or smirked or frowned or bared his teeth at you.

“I handle you, don’t I?”

If it were even possible, that look he gave you grew hotter, scalding even.

Steve’s breath was hot on your ear. Against the small of your back, you could feel him press his erection into you. “Do it. Handle him. Get him ready for us.”

No spoken words came from Yasha and none were needed.

Face still firmly clasped in your hand, you pushed him back, slowly climbing up into the bed, straddling over him, leaning forward till he rested flat on his back. Yasha never once looking away from you. Only lifting his lip up in something resembling a snarl for a brief second.

“ _Put your hands behind your head and keep your mouth shut. Unless you want me to gag you._ ”

Slowly, almost tauntingly slow, you could feel him move his arms up, stretch out beneath you, warm and firm and powerful. Till his hands were behind his head, fingers lacing together.

Over half your life was spent with this man and if you had your way, so would the rest of it. This was merely a bump in the road, an inconvenience. A really big bump mind you. Nothing you three couldn’t get past though.

Releasing the sharp line of his jaw, your hand traveled down his body till you came to his jeans. Never looking from his soft blue eyes. One handedly unbuttoning and unzipping. “ _After what you two did to Justin. Trust me to handle this Yasha. You two are mine. I’m not going to hide you away, or pretend you don’t exist._ ”

He said nothing in response to that to you. Not that he had to. You felt him tremble beneath your hand.

Yasha closed his burning eyes before any tears could build up. Needing a second to center himself, ground himself. Your moving around on him and yanking down his jeans helped distract him from those pesky feelings. Usually he managed to keep them at bay. Today though, god, did they just seem to be out and in the mood to remind him that he wasn’t wanted, he was an accident, he was a bastard. He was kept around and taken care of out of obligation. How could two people as perfect and selfless as you and Steve possibly want someone as tainted as him?

Aleksandr could see right through him. Aleksandr knew he wasn’t worthy of his daughter and Hank, fuck, Hank only invited him into his life when his wife up and vanished. It wasn’t like Hank stood up to Janet for him. Why would…

And he gasped. Inhaled sharply, deeply, as if waking up from the dead.

Holy fuck, his dick was somewhere nice and wet and hot and then you were on top of him, hand over his mouth to silence him as a tongue curled around his tip, toyed with the piercings resting above his crown. Bucky cried out beneath your hand at the mind-numbing pleasure. Because shit did that feel good.

“Shush,” your teeth nipped at his ear, “Close your eyes and take it Yasha. We’re gonna make you feel so good tonight.”

Breathing deeply through his nose, over the back of your hand, Bucky lifted his head slightly to look down and see Steve’s blonde head between his legs. A good bit of Steve’s weight rested on his exposed thighs, jeans shoved down to his calves and then you pushed his head back down.

“ _You’re perfect and you belong to us now._ ” You murmured against his ear, feeling the rough stubble around his mouth beneath your palm. “ _If you two buy me a wedding band, I’ll wear it with pride so everyone will know who I belong to._ ” A pained noise came from him that could have been from your words, or whatever wet sloppy noises came from whatever Steve was doing. “ _If you ask me to tattoo your names on me, I’ll tattoo your names on me. If you want to put marks on me for everyone to see tomorrow, put them on me._ ”

Steve’s voice caught your attention, a profanity followed by your name. 

It made you lift your head and look down, over the partially dressed length of Bucky’s body.

Your eyes found Steve’s and you felt yourself get wet, or wetter, you couldn’t be sure. Not that it mattered. Seeing Steve’s mouth wet and hair messy did things to you. “I have no idea what you said to him right now, but he’s hard as a fucking rock and leaking.”

Unable to help yourself, you smirked. 

Your hand gripped Yasha’s mouth even snugger. In making yourself comfy, you leaned on his broad chest as if it were a pillow. “Let me see.”

And he did.

Pulling up, Steve brandished Yasha’s most impressive erection between two tattooed hands. Thick. Shiny with saliva. Two prominent veins traced up the sides and at the top of that gorgeous cock, were three barbells, about halfway down was the fourth, meant for your clit. 

Once Bucky had healed and you had taken your maiden voyage on his newly modified penis, you’d sucked his dick for nearly two hours in appreciation afterwards.

Almost giddily, you watched your golden-haired boyfriend take the tip of your chestnut-haired boyfriend between his lips, play with those piercings with his tongue most enthusiastically, ripping out a smothered cry from Yasha. You could literally feel yourself get wetter as you watched Steve’s head bob down and take him, pause, hum and toy with those metal bars. Able to tell by how Steve’s head would move just so…how beneath your hand, Yasha would pant and beneath your body he would squirm.

Every time Steve would tighten his grip on the base of Bucky’s shaft, you’d feel Yasha tremble. Steve experimented, he’d swirl his tongue over the smooth tip of Bucky’s dick and both palm his sac. Or tug on that piercing spearing Yasha’s velvety shaft halfway up. Drag his tongue up the side to trace one of those veins as he held your gaze.

“That’s so damn hot Steve…I might even risk a UTI and let you fuck me again.”

The not so little shit winked at you. Steve then did something that made Bucky both jerk roughly beneath you and nearly shriek, making your hand clamp down even more so on his face.

Jerking, shifting beneath you, you then understood, Yasha was climaxing and you had to throw your weight on him extra so. Not that you took your eyes off Steve. Oh no. Heavens no. You weren’t about to miss this, miss watching Steve go down on Yasha. Steve went deeper on one of your top two favorite dicks in the world.

“Shit Steve…”

Lazily, he pulled himself up the pulsing, spewing organ to look you right in the eye, a dark look in his gaze and you were nodding, agreeing to whatever it was he was thinking. “Yes,” you whispered, begging, rubbing your legs together, because he was just looking at you so heatedly. Yasha’s cock continued to spew out liquid, pearly release from the slit and down the wet slippery side, over the flushed skin and metal bars, onto his abdomen.

Mouth wet, eyes dark, hair a mess with an obvious bulge in his jeans, Steve pointed to the spot right in front of him at the edge of the bed, between Yasha’s muscular thighs.

“Come here. Clean him up and make him hard again. My dick wants to get wet.”

And you were scrambling off.

Not before you yanked off your shirt and promptly stuffed it in Yasha’s mouth. Not wanting to be disturbed, not now, especially not fucking now. Breasts exposed and nipples tight in anticipation, you wiggled yourself in between Steve and Yasha, where Steve wanted you, down at the end of the bed. Yasha must have moved a bit. Since Steve was on the bed, on his knees and pulling you back against him so your ass fit into his lap, erection pressing through your cotton sleeping shorts. Shorts that provided no protection at all.

Right before Steve shoved you down forward, he kissed you.

He grabbed your face and licked the tender side that Justin had slapped. Kissing you soundly, pressing his tongue in and grabbing your breasts in the process, squeezing them tightly, twisting your nipples and holding you so tight.

You could taste Yasha’s cum in his mouth, on his lips, feel the sticky thick texture of it and grew even more desperate. Panting and whining in his arms, tasting your other lover as this one laid siege to your body.

Even through his jeans you could feel him. You arched back into him, rubbed your ass against him, pushed until he finally gave you what you wanted, shoved you down onto your hands and knees and shoved your flimsy shorts down your hips.

Sounds of fumbling, a button, a zipper…

You leaned down, rested on your wrists and took Yasha’s cock in your mouth with a drawn-out moan.

He tasted like Steve and Yasha, cum and saliva, a mix of both your men.

Watching you take Bucky’s semi-hard dick in your mouth, like it was made of fucking gold, shit if that didn’t do things to Steve. The very second he had his painfully aching erection out of his pants, Steve reached down to spread your lips and was greeted to the sight of the wettest fucking pussy he’d probably ever seen.

Red, a bit swollen from earlier still.

Shit though.

You were so wet your thighs were shining with your slippery juices. You were pushing back against his hand, wiggling your hips, begging for it. So soft and wet, lips so inviting, he could even see your clit peeking out from your moist folds at him.

Bucky’s voice broke through the haze.

Husky and rough, maybe even a bit relaxed. A hand in your hair while you took his shaft in your mouth just how he liked, using your tongue in just that perfect way, sucking the right amount to make him purr. You looked absolute goddamn divine with his dick in your beautiful mouth.

“I popped her cherry in this bed.”

Steve’s head jerked towards Bucky, stroking his aching dick roughly in his hand.

Hearing that…was it.

Steve rubbed his head through your lips, covering himself with your arousal and was pushing in before he knew it, rutting into you before he realized it, balls deep and fucking you like he was a teenager again.

You screamed around Yasha’s dick. It came out as a muffle around his organ. All from the pain of your body reminding you that you’d partaken earlier, twice, in enthusiastic sex and your pussy needed a break. But fuck did it feel good being stretched out by Steve, stuffed full, shoved down into the mattress, over Yasha’s member. 

You were so wet all you heard were squishy, sucking, fucking noises. All you could feel was the wetness between your bodies. Wetness rolling down between your legs, each thrust from Steve resulted in his balls slapping you, giving you even more depraved of a mental image. Yasha’s fingers sank into your hair to hold you on his dick. His half hard penis filled your mouth with ease and then some. Each bottoming out from Steve made you cry, gasp and shriek on Yasha.

You just looked so perfect like that, eyes rolling up in your head, ok sure, so that bruise on your face was a problem for him. Seeing a smear of his cum over it from where Steve licked you. That helped. That helped a fucking lot.

Yasha looked up at Steve, eyes rolled back up in his head as he railed into you, as if the salvation from all his sin was buried somewhere in your body.

“Fill her up Steve. I wanna taste you when I eat her out.”

A noise came from your mouth, that reverberated around his dick, in a highly satisfying way. Making Yasha smooth his hand over your hair, brush his thumb over your temple. “Sound good princess? I’m gonna eat that pretty little pussy of yours. I can hear how fucking wet it is. You wet enough to take me too? How bout I sit you on my cock and you can clean Steve off after he fills you up?”

Another hum, another moan, another languid curl of your tongue over his cock, very much giving him a second wind.

“You taste like a goddamn dream when you’re filled up with the both of us. You want us to clean this pretty little pussy, lick you from top to bottom till you’re all clean? You won’t even need a shower.” Bucky cooed, feeling you tense up as you neared closer and closer to your own orgasm.

“Fuck Buck…keep talking like that and I won’t last,” Steve hissed, between pounds into your squelching walls, which he never ever ever wanted to leave. Looking down, he watched his dick grow wetter and wetter from you. Hypnotizing him. 

Unimpressed, Bucky sat up, hearing you grow a bit louder as you neared your climax, your fingers twisted into the sheets, drool dribbled from the corner of your mouth as you shut your eyes. To be sure you stayed quiet, he pushed you further on his cock, filled your mouth even more, making your screams contained, guttural and far more filthy. Yasha felt every movement from Steve as your body reached its peak and was fucked right through it.

Moaning. Panting. Tensing up, eyes clenched, spasming, clenched and sweaty bliss.

Two strong hands clamped on your shoulders, jerking your body with every sloppy pump from Steve as he found his release. Filling you. Furthering the pleasure you felt into one never ending shattering sensation. Ending you. Limp didn’t cover it. You just sort of sagged down into the bed, boneless, unable to do anything but breathe.

Steve’s palms fell on your spine, yet he stayed inside you. You heard him gasping. You felt his forehead drop down between your shoulders, sweat smearing around between you both where your flesh touched. His flushed forehead to your shuddering back.

Pulling out of your panting mouth, Yasha found he was hard once more, a trail of drool and ejaculate was covered over his length. Obscene and breathtaking at the same time.

You hardly even noticed when Yasha leaned down, pressed his lips to your sweaty forehead. His words registering but only just scratching the surface as Steve unwound behind you. 

“ _We already have a ring for you princess._ ”

*****

You slept like a rock.

Warm.

Safe.

Comfortable to the nth degree.

Sandwiched between Steve and Yasha, Flung over the back of Steve, one muscular arm wrapped around yours that was snaked over his broad shoulder. Steve was a cuddler. When Steve was in your bed, he always wound up curled around you or over you or under you in some way. 

Yasha, on the other hand, spread out and was the anti-cuddler. He was also something of a bed hog.

All blissed out from where you were curled up on Steve’s expansive back with Yasha’s calf hooked over your legs, you were awakened to a scream, a high-pitched shriek really. One that had you lifting your head up, to see what on earth that noise was and why it was so early?

For some reason you weren’t in your apartment, or Yasha’s apartment.

You in were in old bedroom, in your childhood home, you were looking at your brother Kurt in the doorway. And that shrieking noise was from your father, as he exited your room, shouting for Okoye.

“Okoye! Where’s my shotgun!”

Which were the magic words that woke Steve, Yasha and helped clear your head and your proverbial shit. Your father had walked in on the three of you, in your old childhood room, under his roof.

That was not a good way to start the day.

Flinging himself out of your bed, Steve wound up darting around, grabbing his clothes from the floor and yanking on a pair of jeans. 

Slowly, not a morning person, Yasha looked around, blinked, attempted to get his bearings as you wrapped a quilt around yourself and did your best to shove him from the bed.

Kurt watched it all from the doorway. Wearing little more than a pair of neon orange boxers and ink, a big depiction of the Archangel Michael on his torso, while eating a pastry.

From down the hall came Okoye’s sleepy voice.

As she too was not a morning person. 

“Why do you need your shotgun?”

“Yasha and Steve are in the house! I’m going to shoot them!”

“It’s in the closet. And don’t you ever wake me up at this hour, for this nonsense, ever again Alek.”

Oh dear god.

You panicked.

You shoved Yasha right off the bed, onto the floor with a sound thud, as Steve was zipping up his jeans. Zipping them with haste.

A shotgun wracked loudly, echoing through the upstairs.

Steve bolted for the window, yanked it open, looked your way and blew you a kiss.

You were touched by the gesture.

Cocking his head to the side, Kurt remarked in his general direction, his accent heavy on each word. “Climb through many windows at gunpoint? Do you?”

Pausing, Steve glared at his raven-haired associate. “I’m kicking your ass later Kurt!”

Totally unimpressed, Kurt chewed on his breakfast. “Big talk from half dressed man climbing out little sisters window…dats just me though…”

Oh was Steve tempted. Still though, he’d kick Kurt’s ass later. In the meantime, he saluted him with one finger before climbing out your window and crawling across the roof towards the trellis. Which was exactly where you were shoving a very naked Yasha.

“Wait…what? No…no! I’m not leaving! I’m not afraid of your dad!”

And you could have cared less.

Having your father, shoot your boyfriend, was not how you wanted to start your day. Wrapped up in your quilt full of all the colors, you shoved and pushed and threatened and promised the filthiest things you could think up, in order to get Yasha out that fucking window, as sounds of your father came closer, closer, even closer.

You almost succeeded.

You’d shoved Bucky over to the window and nearly got him bent over.

“No! No!” He argued, seemingly not worried that he didn’t have any clothes on. 

Dave’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“…the hell is goin on Dad?”

“Fucking Yasha and Steve are in your sisters bed!”

“Wait? We allowed to have sleepovers?”

“No! You are all grounded!”

“Yeah…Dad…bout that…”

Thank god for Dave.

Again, you began shoving Yasha towards the open window.

Unfortunately for you, Yasha was just having none of it. He spun around to face you.

“Let him stay…be way more entertaining this way…” Kurt helpfully added.

You were so putting Ex-Lax in his coffee.

“ _Yasha! Yasha! Listen to me! Yasha!_ ” Your hands grabbed his face as you made your longtime partner look you in the eye, only you. You paused and made sure his attention was solely on you. “ _Let me speak to my Dad first. I love you. I love you so much. Let me speak with him first. I don’t want to go to the wedding alone, with Mister Starbucks, because you’re in the emergency room covered with birdshot._ ”

He wasn’t happy.

He was hesitating.

Yasha grimaced. Yasha’s hands came up to cover yours. He didn’t want to, he really didn’t want to. He wanted to stay here, with you, risk getting birdshot all over his uncovered body.

You leaned up on your toes and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you back, he kissed you hungrily, desperately, like he was worried he’d never see you again if he didn’t show you how much he wanted you with that kiss. His hands held yours tightly. His mouth slanted over yours, his tongue caressed yours. 

Your head spun, you sank into him, you heard your brother Kurt singsong out. “…he’s on his way…”

Spurred on with a new wave of strength and determination, you yanked Yasha down against you and broke away, shoving him through the window. So maybe you banged his shoulder on the window frame? It was better than birdshot on that glorious form.

A noise came from Kurt. “That I did not need to see.”

Fortunately for you, you’d just managed to get Yasha shoved out your bedroom window when your father emerged in, shotgun in hand, Dave hot on his heels.

“Daddy,” you began, putting yourself between him and the window.

Still in his striped pajamas and robe, your father hurried over, attempting to shoo you aside. 

“Daddy,” you lowered your voice, warningly so.

“Button,” was his pleading response, as if he knew what you were about to say and didn’t want to hear it, hugging his weapon to his chest.

Aleksandr did not want to hear this, he really didn’t.

“I love them Daddy. I want to spend my life with them. I want to have a family with them.”

Aleksandr shook his head, “No…no, Button no. What about that nice boy from church? That one who works for the mayors office? He looks like he’s easy to train.”

“Daddy.”

Real pain appeared on his face, as if he’d been stabbed, Aleksandr shook his head. “No. No. No don’t do this to me. What if…what if you pick one of them? Your favorite one? Which one’s your favorite?”

And you knew you’d won in that second.

“Daddy.” You began, crossing your arms and tugging your quilt around you tighter. “I’ve never asked you for anything. I’ve been good. I have been a perfect daughter and loyal member of this family and this is the life I have chosen. This is what I want.”

You could see the second he relented.

You watched your father take a deep breath before hugging his shotgun even tighter. “Fine…I’m still going to shoot in their general direction. I don’t care how old you are Button. This is not acceptable behavior from young men wishing to date my daughter.”

And that, you would give him. 

Pride being very important among your people.

Only then did you step aside, seeing both of your brother’s shake their heads at you, as your father leaned out the open window.

You stuck your tongue out at the two of them as you walked out, getting a discreet high-five from Dave. 

Not too long after, loud explosions from a shotgun filled the house. By then, you were in the bathroom before Luis had a chance to hog it and use all the hot water.

Your work now done. 

You’d handled it.

All your dumplings were done and you handled your father.

Now you could shower and prepare for the wedding and reception, along with whatever the rest of your day held. Because this would not be as simple as your father just giving them his blessing. Oh no. This was not a battle won, forget the war. This was merely an agreement so terms could be discussed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::Authors Note:::  
> Hello friendly readers!! This took FOREVER to proofread and edit. 11000+ words...clearly I lost my damn mind. If there are any glaring errors that I missed, I apologize. 11000 words...I just cannot even with myself. Thank you for reading!! <3 <3 Your continued support gives me life!!
> 
> ***Content warning for some rough sex and restraints in the sex***

Aleksandr looked into the rearview mirror and it was like going back in time.

There, in the back seat of his SUV were his children. Three of them anyway. Luis sat up front in his suit, looking every bit like his mother and warming a little bit of Aleksandr’s heart every second. Just as all of his grown children did. Even when they misbehaved. 

Some of his associates would comment on how his grown sons still lived at home.

Not that Aleksandr cared. He and his sons looked out for one another. When he passed, he hoped that bond his sons now shared remained as strong, if not stronger. It was the only true way to survive in the world that he and his children and his grandchildren were born in.

And you, his daughter.

How badly he did not want this life for you. How desperately he tried to find men, suitable men, nice normal boring men, to sweep you off your feet.

Again, as he slowed his Porsche upon seeing the church up ahead on the right, he looked in the mirror to see Kurt helping adjust the veil covering your hair that you’d wear into church. Tongue sticking out between his sons lips as Dave supervised from the other side of you. 

Looking so much like you did as children. 

It would be for the service. Reception being far more casual affair, a party really. Eventually you’d lose the cobalt fabric that covered your hair when you got back in Aleksandr’s car like usual.

His heart swelled at the sight of family traditions being retained in the next generation. Therefore, he supposed, it should not have been a huge shock that you’d chose to date within the social circles that you’d grown up in. For you, this life was normal. You were a good, loyal, obedient daughter. It was foolish for him to expect you to turn your back on everything you knew and believed and were raised around.

With one last adjustment, Kurt pushed his lips to the side. He motioned with one finger, accent thick. “Show Dave. I think good. Let Dave be final judgement.”

Listening, you turned yourself in the other direction to show Dave, while Kurt complained. “Why can’t I sit in front seat? I call shotgun at the house.”

With the traffic light turning green, Aleksandr lifted his shoulders. “We discussed this Kurt. No front seat privileges for you until you either bring your girlfriends home for me to meet. Or, you give me a grandchild. Your brother Luis has given me four. That’s why Luis gets to ride up front today.”

Considering how long you’d spent perfecting your makeup, to include your fake lashes and mascara and cat eye, you rolled your eyes with the utmost care.

“So unfair!” Kurt proclaimed with both vitriol and a healthy amount of righteous fury. Slowly the smaller SUV accelerated past shops and restaurants owned by the local Eastern European and Russian population. Signs in both English and Russian were everywhere. Smells found only in those parts of the world filled the street at the noon hour. 

Up ahead, the local community church even bore the traditional onion spiral domes. Albeit considerably smaller than the ones found on the famous St Basil the Blessed in Moscow. The ones up ahead were in shades of blues and golds instead. But were no less nostalgic to behold.

Making sure no rogue strands of hair escaped, Dave fidgeted a little more with the blue that matched your gown for the event that would last all day. As a child, you thought it’d been bitchin to wear a do-rag into church when the boys didn’t. Your brothers had been hella jealous. As a teenager you thought it was ridiculous. But now, as an adult, you seemed to have come full circle and found a specialness to it. You found comfort in the tradition. You took a sense of connection in knowing generations of women before you in your family wore the traditional covering. Perhaps growing up and living as Russian Orthodox had given you a sense of belonging to where it now felt normal. Now it would have felt weird to go into a holy sanctified place without the soft cloth covering your hair.

“Perfect,” Dave nodded in approval. “You look beautiful.”

Nearer approached the church.

So near Aleksandr turned on his blinker and began to slow down, pulling into the parking lot that was quickly filling up. But not before he noticed the church that he’d been raised in and raised his children in and would raise his grandchildren in.

Busy.

Hectic. 

People congregating around outside, talking, heading in, people he knew and were familiar with as this was the wedding of the year. Also to include, individuals from other syndicates that would come to show their support.

Obviously waiting outside were Hank and his boys, Yasha and Steve, too.

Aleksandr clenched his jaw, turned his attention away to focus on finding a spot. “Remember what I said. We all stay together here and at the reception. No funny business.”

To which you finally spoke up. “Daddy. You promised you would be nice.”

Earning you a placating, “I am being nice Button,” as your father eyed the parking lot with help from Luis in finding a spot.

A spot right beside a very familiar BMW appeared to be suspiciously open.

Hank’s beamer.

On Aleksandr drove. He’d rather walk across the city than park next to Hank.

Silence descended upon the back seat.

Not that you were too surprised. The men in your life could be handfuls at time. All of them.

“Dad. You missed spot,” Kurt most helpfully pointed out in a dark blue suit that matched your dress. Dave and Luis too, as well as your father. Granted, the fits and designers were different. Luis had paired a scarlet tie with his blue, while Dave went with a three-piece suit and Kurt went with a white shirt and no tie.

“No one likes a smartass Kurt,” came from the driver’s seat, making you smile and smooth your palms over the dark fabric covering your legs. You and Dave shared a look before your father eventually found a spot, all the way across the parking lot, leading to yet another remark. “Much better spot…it like you don’t remember our sister has shoes on that resemble medieval torture device.”

“Kurt, I swear to god!”

“In the parking lot no less,” Dave remarked offhandedly. 

Halfway into the spot meant for a compact car, your father slammed on the brakes and whipped around in his seat. Glowering at the three of you and pointing downright menacingly. “Neither of you are too big to be spanked! And I’ll do it in the church parking lot. Today is not the day!”

Having failed to point at you, Kurt opened his mouth and gestured at you.

Aleksandr was having none of it, “Let’s not discuss your sister right now.”

“Yeah man,” Luis finally chimed in from his position as favorite up in the front seat, seeing an opening he couldn’t begin to pass up. “Leave our sister alone! Steve and Yasha gonna come…”

And Aleksandr turned in his seat to point that finger at Luis. “Nah-ah! What did I say about those names? We’re not using those names!”

Another look passed between you and Dave.

It was going to be a long day.

_**Across the parking lot, fifteen minutes or so later…** _

“I’m going to need the two of you to not say anything to Aleksandr. Don’t say a word to the man. Don’t look at him. You know what, do me a favor, why don’t you both just go on inside the church and wait for me. The last thing I need is either of you to make the hole you’re in bigger, by making this whole situation worse.”

Hank waited for one of the two grown men at his side to say something.

Because he just knew that they were going to say something. Probably his son. His son always had something to say. 

And sure enough, Yasha turned his head. His mouth parted. Uncaring about anyone on the sidewalk leading up to the church that may have been listening, wearing a suit that cost more than Hank’s first car.

“Like having Aleksandr wake up to find the two of you under his roof, naked, in his daughters bed? What exactly do you have to say to him to make all of that acceptable? Tell me son.”

His son’s mouth shut.

Not that Hank didn’t feel for him. He really did. His son was deeply in love and on the verge of creating something wonderful and precious and then…there was Steve. Hank didn’t get it. 

After the chaos of the morning had died down and some heated words had been exchanged with Aleksandr, followed by Yasha. Breakfast had been eaten. Then, he saw something he was still trying his very best to wrap his head around. Because breakfast had been normal. Nothing had hinted at what he later noticed.

After breakfast, Yasha and Steve had gone to get ready.

One shower had been taken. Both men had showered. Both men were freshly shaved. Both men had gotten dressed in Yasha’s room.

Hank wasn’t sure what to make of that. Neither Yasha nor Steve had ever done that unless you counted when they’d steam. But that was different. That was communal. That wasn’t just the two of them in a shower. 

It wasn’t that Hank was a prude. Nor was he a bigot. He was just surprised. 

Why had his sons hidden so much? Could he consider Steve his son now? Or was it more of a son-in-law type thing? Wrapping his head around Yasha and Steve was doable, he could do that, he could understand how love worked between two people no matter who they were. But Yasha, Steve and Alexsandr’s daughter? How did that work? How could it work? It’d been so difficult to balance his wife and mistress. Living under one roof with two women was so surreal. How could it work without someone being left out? How could that work without jealousy? 

When he could no longer wonder about that, or how the sleeping situation would work, Hank would think about how there would be no wedding. Whose name would the grandchildren take? He’d have to bribe the bishop heavily like Romanov did for the wedding in order to get any grandkids baptized. 

Still though, he’d bottle that all up and keep it inside.

To say that Hank’s relationship with his son was warm would be a gross overstatement. The two got along. The two worked well together. But to say that there was an open warmth would have been a lie. But that was what Hank wanted and why he was determined to make Aleksandr hear him. He and Aleksandr would have a talk, one way or the other.

Never had his son asked him for anything. 

“Just stand there. Don’t speak. Don’t say a word. Nothing. Don’t even breathe in Aleksandr’s direction.”

Steve was quiet. Steve was always quiet in times like these.

Yasha grimaced, scowled even, yet was also quiet.

Both men opted to remain quiet. Could they have spoken? Yes. Could they have gone to your father themselves? Absolutely. On a daily basis the two grown men dealt with Aleksandr on a professional and social basis. However, that was not how things were done. Things were done a certain way in the world in which the three of you lived and had been done that way for generations before them and would continue to be done that way for generations to come.

When Aleksandr approached, Hank greeted him with nod. “Aleksandr. Could I have a moment.”

Aleksandr stopped.

He was the only one to stop. His offspring continued on towards the church. His son’s Kurt and Dave patted his back while you held Luis’s elbow. A soft smile on your lips for both Steve and Yasha as you passed.

“Of course, Hank. Take this moment to tell your sons to keep their dirty hands off my daughter.”

While not totally unexpected, Hank was not exactly thrilled to hear those words come from his friend’s mouth. He gestured behind his back to be left in privacy, secure in the knowledge that it would happen. In seeing Aleksandr’s blue eyes glance over at what Hank knew were Steve and Yasha’s retreating backs, he lowered his voice.

“Alek. They’re in love.”

Aleksandr looked back to Hank, down at the silver haired man. His teeth ground together. His nostrils flared. Unable to control his temper a second longer, he stepped right up to Hank, toe to toe. “Is this your doing? Is this you finally getting your fingers in my business? You finally figured out how to screw me over by having your boys…” And he couldn’t say it. Aleksandr could not, the best he could spit out was, “Do what they did to my daughter! Under my roof! In my home!” 

Still, it wasn’t as bad as the worst possible reaction Hank had feared.

“Don’t give me that!” Hank snarled right back. “Do you think this is what I want for my boys? The three of them living like hippies!”

Not about to hear that, Alexsandr opened his mouth right around the time Hank lobbed a grenade his way. “My boys bought a house out on Long Island and they’re ready to start a family of their own. Do you want that? Do you want them living all the way out in god forsaken Long Island, with our grandchildren? Your daughter being that far away while she’s pregnant with our grandchild? She could be pregnant right now.”

Hank watched Aleksandr turn white as a sheet.

Not that he was proud. No. This was not a laughing matter. This was the very future of their family in peril. Because it was no longer Hank’s family. It was no longer Aleksandr’s family and Hank could see the exact second that it dawned upon his compatriot. 

_**You…** _

You on the other hand were having problems of your own.

Well…perhaps not problems.

Oddities.

Oddities were a much better term.

At first, you didn’t notice it quite so much. You figured it was your nerves at being back around everyone, everyone who knew…knew everything. The gossip mill was the quickest way to disseminate information through Little Moscow. So you knew for a fact, that everyone in the church was probably more knowledgeable about your sex life than your gynecologist. 

And yet…not so much as a hint of side eye. Not a knowing look. Not a wink, or hint of anything that could fall under the umbrella of disapproval.

Which was weird.

When Tony greeted you right outside the church with a few words paired with a curt nod, you weren’t exactly shocked. After all, you were with your brothers. Your brothers and Tony couldn’t agree on what color the sky was if their lives depended on it.

So that wasn’t too unusual.

When your brother’s greeted T’Challa, your father’s favorite criminal defense attorney, you were a little bewildered when he greeted you with a polite smile, hands folded regally behind him.

Unusual for sure. But T’Challa always had a dignified and restrained air to him that didn’t make it totally unusual.

So again, you wrote that off to you being a bit vulnerable. You clung to Luis’s elbow a bit tighter and followed your brothers through the press of people in the church, until a familiar voice caught all your attentions. Silencing all of the thoughts that were bouncing around in your head.

Scott.

Scott would be the ultimate test you decided.

Like a force of nature Scott approached. He shouted out your brothers names just outside of the doors that led into the church, the altar ahead in the pewless space. 

Scott threw his arms around Kurt and the two men hugged tightly. You reached up to be sure your veil was still in place, as he and Dave preformed an elaborate handshake ritual that eventually ended up with a big hug, hard pats and Luis letting go of you far from discreetly.

Utterly surrounded by people from all sides, none of whom found the activity unusual, you watched Scott and Luis shout gleefully and practically jump into one another’s arms. As if they were two reunited kids returning to school after a summer vacation apart, instead of criminals that were members of the same organized crime syndicate. 

Scott had been friends with your brothers since they were old enough to ride their bikes to get pastries and plan their first petty crimes. Scott had been a fixture in your household since sleepover days.

Scott would be your true test.

You yourself weren’t as close to Scott as your brothers. As the friendship beyond those four had reached criminal conspiracy levels of awesomeness. While they’d been robbing luxury shops and stealing cars and burgling the homes of the wealthy, you’d been keeping your nose in your school books, learning to cook from the women all around you. You’d been the youngest person in the cooking classes at your community college and to attend the prestigious culinary school further in the city. Making you ride the train every day to attend with whomever your father sent with you. Sometimes Scott, sometimes your brothers, other times it was someone working their way up through the syndicate and once in a blue moon, it was Yasha or Steve. Your father had that desperately wanted you to have a nice normal life.

Scott would be the true test to if your life would ever be normal again. Normal for you anyway.

Once the hopping and hugging and shrilling stopped between Luis and Scott, the dark-haired man turned his eyes on you. Face full of excited merriment. Arms reached out for you as Scott greeted you soundly. He stepped forward and then…he stopped, he just stopped.

Taking the opportunity, you took a step forward to reach out to hug him.

Scott stepped back. Blinking quickly, as if remembering something very important, his hands came down to get shoved in his pockets. He cleared his throat and said your name in greeting. Followed by a polite, “You look lovely today.”

And you weren’t quite sure what to make of that, how to process it. Scott had always _always_ greeted you like your brothers. Much to your embarrassment in most cases.

Things were most certainly different now.

Leading you to squeezing Luis’s elbow. “I’m going to go find our spot so you boys can talk.”

Because you most definitely needed a moment to yourself to process this turn of events.

None of your brothers argued. Likely secure in the knowledge that no one would bother you in the church, or now. Not now. 

Letting go of Luis, you patted his bicep and then made your way down the marble aisle of the bustling church. The one that you’d been baptized in days after you’d been born. Your heels clicked soundly on the floor as you headed towards the second row on the right side, where your family always stood for weddings and funerals. Based on your father’s position within the Romanov Crime Group.

Up ahead was the altar and all around were familiar faces finding their own places, chatting or attempting to wrangle their well-dressed children for what would be a lengthy event.

Up at the very front and center stood Tony Stark’s mother.

Snowy haired Maria Stark looking downright queenly and dressed just as well, as she surveyed her kingdom on this most important day. As Natasha’s mother was long passed. Maria was the only first wife remaining so high in the syndicate. She smiled at you. It was a kind knowing smile.

She’d never smiled at you before, at the most, she may have glanced at you in passing.

Never smiled. No. Never.

Normal was probably never going to be a word in your vocabulary ever again. Unless you counted the setting on your washing machine.

On the floor was a slightly darker shade of marble in beige against the white. Marking where pews would have been in a different church, so congregants knew where to stand and as you walked along the white between beiges, as if there were actual pews, you pressed your fingers to your forehead.

This wedding was turning out to be a freaking nightmare for you.

God what you would have given for yesterday, when your sole concern was getting all your dumplings done in time. Oh what a simpler time yesterday was. You really should have appreciated yesterday when you had it.

Blue and white panels painted with the Saints and Archangels stared back at you. Letting you gaze at the white marble altar where the wedding would take place. You were one of the few people who wasn’t surprised by the wedding taking place in the church. You’d heard the gossip leading up to this big day. Carol and Natasha could get married legally. But the church did not recognize their union. Naturally, everyone just assumed that a sizable donation had been made so it could be done off the books. 

Not too many people knew that Carol’s father was the bishop.

You knew because Yasha had told you, because he was close with Carol. It seemed your entire community was just twisted up within itself.

Granted a donation could have been made too, for appearance sake.

Sadly, you would never be able to marry the loves of your life here, or in the courthouse.

Footsteps on the marble sounded closer than the rest.

Movement caught your attention from the corner of your eye, making you turn your head to see the two of them. Look them over in their black suits. Remark as only you could in a house of worship. “ _You two should be happy that you clean up so nice._ ”

Normally Hank and your boys were on the other end of the row where your family stood. Hank shared a position equal to that of your father. Otherwise your brothers would be around the middle of the church. Yasha and Steve would have been in the third or fourth row from the front, which began to explain better to you the reaction you’d gotten from Tony and T’Challa and Scott, even Maria Stark.

Both of them looked good enough for you to drop down on your knees and give thanks.

Sure, Steve didn’t look quite as comfortable in the church. Clearly distracted in his basic black suit with a white shirt. As if he felt like he was about to get accused of something by the bishop himself, at any second. It was a suit for any occasion and had seen more than its share of events.

As he stepped around you to take up the space on your right. Steve leaned down to press his lips distractedly to your temple. Attention flickered between you and the altar, lingering up there a wee bit longer.

Yasha on the other hand, oh Yasha. 

Caring little about where he was or who was around, in a black suit that was the very definition of sinful, decadent, wicked in all of the best ways. “ _You look beautiful as always._ ” He murmured against your cheek. A inked hand coming to rest on the small of your back, over the shawl that covered your shoulders and the open back of your gown. Whether he pulled you closer to him or Yahsa drifted into your personal space bubble, he further inquired lowly. “ _Did your father give you any problems?_ ”

Making you tilt your head up to look at your longtime partner. Cock an eyebrow in response. “ _Keep your hands off my father. I can handle him._ ”

Beside you, you could feel Steve fidget, shift around uncomfortably.

Not at all bothered by your words or being in the church, Yasha smirked. His hand stretched out to palm dangerously low on the small of your back. Very close to inappropriately low. Your eyebrows rose to question such behavior. “ _I know. He’s outside bickering with my father. They’re probably fighting over what to name our children right now. I think I’d rather have him shooting at me._ ”

***

To your great relief, the wedding went off without any problems.

Not during the ceremony or full service that preceded the actual marital rite for your religious practice. Nope. Not even a stuttering of vows.

There were no problems from the row that your family took up.

Sure, the situation had been prickly at first. Positions had been changed. There had been pushing, arguing, an elbow may have been thrown, trash-talk may have been exchanged. All of which came to a sudden end when your foot got stepped on and you swore something fierce.

About halfway through the two-hour long ceremony, your feet may have been killing you. Four and a half inch pumps were not made for long amounts of time standing and standing and standing. After some considerable shifting from one foot to the other, a bit of fidgeting, some rocking from your toes to the heel and back and forth, your situation was not good. All was not well in the state of your footwear union.

Both Steve and Bucky noticed. 

How could they not? Standing on just the other side of Luis. Who essentially became the DMZ between your two families.

Before either of your lovers could think up a solution to your obvious discomfort, Dave leaned over, whispered in your ear like he did when you were children and in church. Before you’d gotten somewhat accustomed to heels. “Button, you cold?”

It was a well-practiced ploy the four of you had come up with that you were more than ready to activate.

Nodding that indeed you were ready for aide, you gratefully took the jacket that Dave shrugged off and handed over. Earning a look from your father. Not seeing any funny business going on, Aleksandr returned his gaze to the front of the church.

All of your eyes remained forward. As this was a much-practiced exercise that you four now had down with military precision. And only when Dave bumped into your arm, did you reach up under his jacket that you slipped your hands into, because it was warm and cozy and expensive. After that, you tugged on the wrap that covered your back and shoulders till it fell from you.

Leaning back, you folded the shawl up and then dropped it down, onto the cold marble floor.

On the other side of Aleksandr, Kurt leaned over to whisper in his father’s ear, diverting his attention so you could quickly lift your floor length skirt, step out of your heels and onto the folded-up cashmere.

Luis kicked at your pumps to get them closer to your feet and then helped you shake out your long skirt.

As your feet began to regain feeling, you glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, your father was looking at something clear on the other side of the church that Kurt was pointing out. God only knew what. But Kurt knew his role in the operation. Peeking to the right real quick, you locked eyes with Yasha, who most definitely noticed. Standing beside a squirming Steve, who was doing far better than the last wedding you all attended. He lifted dark eyebrows at you in question. As Yasha usually did in times like these. When you were unable to stand together as a couple and needed to check in with the other.

In response, you winked that you were fine.

He was so close. Close enough to touch, only on the other side of Luis. It drove Bucky crazy. You were so close, finally so close to being his in absolutely everyway and once more, one of your family was in the way. Luis that time. But still. He wasn’t standing next to you. Steve wasn’t beside you. He wasn’t the one whispering in your ear and giving you his jacket. Steve wasn’t helping you hide your shoes under the dark fabric of your dress, so your feet wouldn’t hurt. Such little things that he so desperately wanted to be the one doing.

Beside him, Steve shrugged his shoulders.

Beside Steve, Hank hissed, “Will you stop twitching?!”

“I’m not twitching,” Steve immediately clapped back, then tugged at the front of his pants which were itching. Because he was itching and hot and a bit nervous. Not only was the all seeing above up there, knowing and seeing. But now the bishop too. And the bishop knew everything based on the look he’d thrown Steve’s way before the ceremony started.

“Son. You haven’t stopped twitching since the ceremony started.”

Steve, bless him, had taken position beside Hank.

“I’m not twitching. I don’t twitch.”

“You’re twitching right now.”

“I swear Pop, I am not twitching!”

“I don’t know what to tell you Steve. You must have ants in your pants or something…”

Ignoring them with ease, Bucky mouthed to you _I love you._ And you mouthed it back to him. You didn’t realize that your father was looking your way, Yasha’s way, seeing that moment pass between the two of you.

Bucky noticed though.

He noticed Aleksandr look and did not turn away, he held firm. Yasha breathed deeply through his nose. He’d faced far more terrifying men over the years. Never backing down from them for far less important matters. Therefore, he most certainly would not back down from your father, not for something as critical to his existence as you.

No, he wouldn’t budge.

Bucky didn’t fear your father. What he feared was being forced to live without you.

***

Aleksandr Pierce was under no illusion, that the second he left the table to join Hank outside on the patio of ballroom, all of his grown kids were going to split up and vanish for what he could hope was only the night. Knowing his offspring as he did, there was a pretty sound chance it’d be tomorrow afternoon before his sons rolled on home.

Yet, it could not be avoided.

You though, Aleksandr knew for a fact that you’d stay well past midnight and not just because you were a good and loyal daughter. Or because you’d catered the wedding. No. You always stayed for big events such as these and now, now Aleksandr was beginning to suspect that maybe there was another reason why you stayed so long, two reasons really.

In the time it took him to cross the hotels massive ballroom, full of tables and people, several open bars around the luxuriously decorated space. On one side were gorgeously decorated tables, holding food that was constantly being restocked from the kitchen with your food and Wanda’s desserts. A dancing area was packed full of bodies. As the wedding reception ventured well into nighttime hours, kids ran around. Older men began to gather amongst themselves while younger men flirted with young women. Aleksandr noticed his son Kurt flirting with a young woman employed by the hotel. Luis and Dave were laughing over at one of the bars with Scott.

Aleksandr could only imagine how much alcohol was being consumed that night.

Over in a sea of tables covered with crimson table clothes, white rose centerpieces and fine china with crystal, sat you. Although you were no longer alone or checking emails on your phone. 

Right before he put his hand on the door that led out to the balcony, Pierce paused.

You looked so comfortable, content even. Seated on Steve’s lap. Resting against the front of him, the two of you locked into an intense looking discussion with Yasha, who sat in the chair by Steve.

How had that happened so fast? He’d literally just left you alone a moment ago.

Grinding his teeth together, Aleksandr pushed the door open to step out into the night. Seeing Hank peering over the balcony at the city below. Cigar in his mouth. Under a violent twinkling sky.

Ok, so sure, Aleksandr had on occasion thought about agreeing to give Hank the family discount, in order to get in on Hank’s international shipping and smuggling empire. Not like this though, never like this. Using his children, grown or otherwise, as pawns in his professional life did not sit well with him one bit. 

How badly he wanted a different life for you. 

How frantically he didn’t want to lose you like he’d lost your mother, lost Luis’s mom.

Could he trust Yasha and Steve to look over you, protect you? Could he trust the two of them to take care of you in the way he thought you deserved? You were his only daughter. He’d taught you how to ride a bike and learned how to braid hair just for you, having been your sole parent since you were two years old. Aleksandr had learned to jump-rope so he could teach you. Sons were one thing. Aleksandr had three of them and while he loved every one of his kids unconditionally, he always had a special place in his heart for his only daughter. When Aleksandr looked at you, he could still see you as a little girl in your school uniform, a lopsided braid in your hair.

Thinking about this being the last big event where you’d be with your family, them, it pushed that knife deeper in his heart.

And then, then, somehow, in some way, he yet again managed to lock eyes with Yasha from nearly across the ballroom. Again, you didn’t notice. Unless both you and Steve had grown eyes in the back of your respective heads.

Like in the church, Yasha didn’t look away.

He seemed relaxed, in his element.

Your stockinged feet rested in his lap, where Yasha rubbed your aching soles from a day in your footwear. 

Steve was telling you about the house a block over that Hank was buying for the three of you, to move into and fill with grandchildren, as only he could. Not that Bucky wasn’t listening. He was. He’d just felt the distinct feeling of eyes on him, leading him to lift his head and scan the room.

Thus far, he’d heard not a murmur, nor witnessed so much as a narrowed gaze in your direction and Bucky had been paying attention.

And it wasn’t that he had a chip on his shoulder.

Bucky had absolutely nothing to prove to anyone in the ballroom at this point in his life.

No. It was not a disapproving wife or fellow associate that needed to be reminded to mind his own business. It was your father. A man that he would forever be indebted to for the precious gift that was you.

Knowing that his own father was on the other side of the door going out onto the balcony, Yasha held your father’s gaze, both unable and unwilling to look away. 

No, Bucky wouldn’t look away, this was not something he was willing to bend on.

Not even when Steve curled his hand down the flare of your hip, suggesting. “Why don’t we go upstairs? Yasha got us a room.”

No, not even that would make him look away from your father. Break his gaze. Be the first to give in.

“You two rented a room? Here? What? You two couldn’t wait to tag team me in the time it would take to drive home?”

Fortunately for Yasha, your father went out on the patio at that moment, allowing him to look your way and focus his attention on your mouth. A stirring coming from south of his belt at your tone, your sass, that fire in your eye. With a stomach full of your pelmeni, Yasha was fueled for the night and more than ready to make the hotel room worth every penny. Sure he’d used Steve’s credit card. But still, at the rate the luxury hotel was charging, he intended to make it a memorable night.

Deciding upon that, Bucky grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and handed it to you. The open back of your gown was fine and dandy for the reception. After all, your dress touched the floor and had long sleeves. Exposing that much of your back was modest compared to what some of the women wore.

Not that he wanted anyone else in the hotel lobby or elevators to see. No. That elegant smooth expanse of skin and your lovely neck was for him and Steve.

Speaking of Steve.

“ _Give me your tie Yasha. I want to see just how much our girl likes getting tied up._ ”

Having taken the jacket and shrugged it on. Smooth. Silky. Expensive and smelling of Yasha. You tilted your head to give Steve a most heated look, your fingers combing through his hair. “ _It’s not nice to tease people._ ”

Although to be clear, you knew that Steve was not teasing by the fire in his eyes.

Totally complicit in this suggested bad behavior, Yasha’s tie was tossed into your lap. “ _Don’t go easy on her. She hates that._ ”

Yasha grinned when you gave him a shocked look that bordered on admonishing. From Steve’s lap of all places. Not that he was jealous. No. There would be plenty of times in the future for you to sit in his lap and besides, he wanted you and Steve to have time together. He’d had you for years to himself. Steve deserved some time with you that was only the two of you. 

Reaching to sip his water, he found himself amused when Steve stood and bounced you off his lap. As he sipped, he felt oddly possessive, proud, at the sight of you in his jacket. Wearing his jacket. Marking you as his when Steve pulled you close against him, an arm around your shoulders, pressing his mouth against your hair. You looked absolutely perfect in his clothing.

***

You weren’t even going to lie to yourself.

The second that you followed Steve off the elevator and to towards the room, you felt a little thrill fill you. Perhaps even a bit of a naughty tingle.

You’d never been with Steve and Steve alone.

It was always Bucky with Steve. So a little feeling of something that could have been excited guilt settled in you. Not that you had any reason for it. Yasha knew where you were, what you were about to do and with whom. Steve sure as hell didn’t have any compunctions about it. If the hard-on he was pushing against your hip in the elevator was any indication.

It was new. It was different. Or so you kept telling yourself.

Plus, he had Yasha’s tie and on the way up in the elevator, he’d wound and unwound it around knuckles, hiding and exposing little tattoos. God if that didn’t ruin your panties nothing would. 

Not that the visiting tourists in the elevator seemed to agree, from the corner they most pointedly remained in.

Still, you managed to keep your hands to yourself down the hallway of the immaculately and understated hallway of the hotel. Mind wandering. What was sex with Steve like? Or sex with Steve without Yasha? Was he gentle? Rough? You knew he was insatiable. What did he like when it was two instead of three?

Because, yeah, you and Steve needed some time alone together, with one another.

Your hands began to shake from nervous excitement.

When Steve put a key card in what was apparently your room’s door, you slipped your hands into Yasha’s jacket and inhaled the tangy scent of his cologne.

Your heart pounded. Your palms grew sweaty.

A chirp escaped when Steve gave your bottom a firm smack on your way past him, into the suite. Heat flamed up your neck and face. You nearly tripped on your heels. Whipping around to take in his amused face, the shutting of the door and realization that it was now the two of you.

“Yasha did tell me not to go easy on you.”

Indeed Yasha did tell him that. Yasha was going to regret telling him that and even though the thought was on the tip of your tongue, no words could escape. Not when he was so big, so powerful, so singularly Steve.

In his hand was Yasha’s tie, which he snapped against his thigh.

You jumped. You licked your lips.

Seeing nothing but intent on his face, you kicked off your shoes and hiked up your skirt. Heart pounding violently. Panties now ruined. So ruined, you could feel a warm trickle down the inside of your thigh.

“All you have to do is say stop. Or no. Or slow down.”

How was it even possible that you were this turned on? And he hadn’t even touched you? You literally had to swallow the buildup of saliva in your mouth or risk drooling.

Did Steve want to chase you around the hotel room? In your combined wedding attire? All so he could manhandle you into that tie and give you what was looking like some quality rough sex? If so…you were totally onboard for that and saluted him for taking your mind off things.

In no time at all, you kicked off your pumps and took a step towards the hotel room.

Steve slowly followed, eyes devoid of anything except lust and want, fingers tightening in Yasha’s tie.

Turning on your heel, you bolted. Gripping the dark blue fabric of your skirt in your hands. Taking off into the depths of what was actually a gorgeous hotel room with Steve hot on your heels.

Into a massively large living room, with an entire wall of floor to ceiling mirrors looking out over the city, you bolted. Modern art hunt on the walls. Grey furniture with sleek metal tables were strategically set up that you hurried between and around. Steve never more than a step or two away from you.

Fingers grabbed a hold of Yasha’s jacket. 

You shrugged it off.

Steve hopped over one of those metal tables.

You hurled a pillow at him.

Running in a gown proved difficult. You managed to hop up onto the couch, barefeet sinking into the pillows and then flung yourself over the back of it. Resembling less of an athlete vaulting and more of you screeching as you tumbled over the edge. Really leading you to rethink that single glass of champagne. Clearly you should have had a few more glasses. You really limbered up after a third glass of champagne. Clearly you weren’t buzzed enough for foreplay.

Somehow you managed to not break your legs or neck. Although sticking that landing really slowed you down. Allowing Steve to come up behind you. Tattooed hands roughly grabbed your waist. A true surprised screech came from you. Another one came when Steve hefted you up.

“Quit screaming or I’ll gag you.”

Such words led you to stop hollering, stop kicking and go still. Sending your stockinged feet outwards, hitting a metal lamp and sending it down to the floor. Where it didn’t so much shatter…as land with a resounding metal thud.

Not that you were frightening.

Not of Steve and not now. Nope. Not even. “Don’t tease me with your sweet words unless you’re going to go there twitchy.”

Resulting in your next scream being real as you were tossed back onto the couch, dropping like a brick, bouncing twice. Throat tightening as your stomach dropped down through the next floor. 

In a flash, you flipped yourself off the couch. Legs tangling up in the fabric of your gown. Thwarting your attempt to crawl away with haste. Not that you made it far. Sadly not. A foot or two at the most, before a weight slammed down on you, taking you to the floor and as you attempted to wiggle forward, big hands grabbed your wrists.

It was all fun and games. Up until you’d called him _twitchy_.

Steve couldn’t think straight. All he could focus on was you and how you felt and how you tasted and what you smelled like all wrapped up in that dark blue, wedged on the floor between the steel colored couch and metal coffee table. Quickly tying your wrists behind your back police style, before you gathered your wits, was pure luck. You were proving to be something of a handful. Which Yasha probably knew. 

Bucky had also told him not to rip or tear your dress. That asshole. 

Such a thought went through his head and in remembering that, he shoved your knees up underneath you, curled over the back of you and got a whiff of your perfume that somehow made him even harder. If that was even possible. It was a scent that haunted him whenever he caught it and god help him, his dick was feeling hard enough to break that metal table in half. Urging him on to push his groin up against your rear, grind himself against you to relieve some of that pressure he felt down to his sac. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop princess.”

Yeah, you could do that. Not that you would, you could but your moan was deep, low, throaty and made a cold sweat break out on the small of his back.

Up until you gave Yasha’s tie a tug and found your hands bound snugly behind you. Which was a whole new turn on your evenings direction. Visions of a big comfy bed with lots of pillows and a killer view of the city had been filling your head. Followed by the shoving of your gown up your hips where it bunched around your waist, it was safe to say, you were not disappointed. Whiny was another story entirely. “Hurry up Steve. I’m wet enough. Just stick it in.” Because if he didn’t hurry up and fuck you into the floor, there was a very real chance that you would combust.

Seeing your expensive lingerie normally was a treat.

Normally.

Steve normally wasn’t looking at a pair of completely saturated lace panties on you. Panties that had long since stopped working and allowed your slippery arousal to ooze through that thin layer of blue lace and smear on your thighs.

“Fuck you’re wet…” Slipping two long fingers up under the wet fabric, into you, pushing deep and rewarded with a wet noise. “This all for me? You this wet for me?” A noise came from you at the penetration, at feeling his fingers push into you. You were wet. You could feel just how wet you were, how you ached for him. “You’re pussy feels like a goddamn dream. Your pussy is the only one I’m ever gonna fuck for the rest of my life.”

It was true too.

Never had Steve seen a more beautiful pussy. Yanking down your panties, aroused wetness smearing everywhere. Ignoring your garter belt and tights. Steve beheld the sight of you. Swollen wet lips framing your greedy slit framed his fingers and peeking out, your pretty little clit. A pearl waiting just for him.

“ _Fuck! Steve!_ ”

Later. He could play with you later.

Frantically unzipping himself and shoving down his pants, Steve took himself in hand. Stroked his painfully erect member roughly. Pre-cum already smeared over his tip. Steve watched it rub off when he slipped the tip up and down through you, pushed himself in and with a powerful thrust of his hips, seated himself in almost entirely. Relishing the gasp that came from you. He then set a fierce pace. Pounding into you and savoring every second. Sinking fingers into the flesh of your ass over your garter straps, he closed his eyes to burrow himself even deeper in you, in the moment, in the connection the two of you shared. In how tightly you squeezed him, how wet you were, how fucking wonderful you felt with every time he slammed into you and then no more. It was a beautiful sight. Your pussy clinging to him as he pulled out, his cock shoving into your warm gushy depths. Covered with you. Fiercely rigid. Balls tight. Veins standing out on his shaft.

Seeing himself inside you was far too tempting. Your curves and smooth flesh and wet sloppy pussy.

Steve stopped entirely to observe the sight.

It was both horrifying and upsetting.

Looking back, you had to understand why his thick perfect dick was no longer inside of you. Why he would do this to you? How he could be so cruel?

And his face was then in your cunt.

Closing your eyes, yes, that was his mouth sucking on your clit and sending your cheek down to the floor, your fingers digging into your palms. His tongue ran up and down the length of you. He sucked on your clit, pulling the most depraved moan from deep inside of you. When you felt Steve’s tongue sink into your slit, heard how wet you were, how much noise he was making, your mouth popped open. His name escaped from your lips as the side of your face pressed against the floor.

Fingers dug into your ass cheeks, pulled them apart. Yanking on your restrained hands, you felt resistance and then his tongue brushed over your ass. No. Not your ass, no, your second opening. “Oh shit Steve…”

Yasha fucked you with regularity back there and Steve had just started. Plugs and fingers yes. But never had you felt a tongue there. Leading to your eyes popping open at the sensation. Beneath him you squirmed. You gasped. A delicate pleasure spread around as you felt him tongue your tight ring of muscle.

Sensations of it being taboo and wet and weirdly arousing caught you by surprise. Steve’s fingertips dug sharply into the flesh of your ass. Knowing that he was spreading your cheeks to expose more of you…it filled you with a burning mix of those sensations.

In no way were you prepared for him spitting on you there. Fire spread up your neck and face, hot and cold simultaneously, as you felt a finger push into your ass. Out came a squeak from you proclaiming your surprise.

“Oh my shit Steve.”

Neither surprised nor at a loss, your lover sounded confident, downright pleased one could say. “You got such a beautiful ass.” With each word, his finger pulled you open, exposed you, you could just tell. “How often does Yasha fill you up back here? Hmm? He fuck you back here as much as he fucks your tight little pussy?” A second finger pushed into your second hole, fully lighting up your body and that was before Steve began to stretch you, scissor you open. Being so much tighter back there, the sensation had you gaping, pulling on your restraints, arching your back to push up into him in order to alleviate the burn.

“Answer him princess. Tell Steve how many times I make that ass mine.”

Yasha?

Rolling seconded by lifting your head, you were greeted to the sight of Yasha. 

Yasha strolling most casually over to a chair nearby, as if this were a sight he was well accustomed. An unmarked clear bottle in one hand. A takeout container in his other, which he set down on the metal table that trapped you against the couch.

Plopping down in said chair, he set the full bottle down and cocked his head to the side. Pale blue eyes searching yours as Steve pushed his cock back inside of you, worked himself in, keeping his two fingers snug in your ass. Making you feel everything he was doing. Making you exhale heavily. Making a smile grow over Yasha’s face. 

Settling in to watch Steve and you, Yasha was serenaded with the most beautifully erotic sounds coming from your lips. Watching Steve plunge into you, bit by bit, was a bonus.

You were answering him. In your own special way.

Grunted words came babbling out of you from what was being done to you, what Steve was doing to your body. Face dragging on the floor. Eyes unfocused. Hair ruined now. Midnight blue fabric bunched up around your waist. It was a sight that had him freeing his own cock from its fabric confines and leisurely stroking his rigid flesh.

Both of you were close. 

Yasha could tell. Your incoherent noises were drawing out, becoming deeper. Your exposed back in your gown was beginning to dampen with perspiration.

And Steve, oh Steve.

Suit askew, powering into your wet channel, hair tousled and mouth open. It was a sight for the ages. It made Yasha’s dick twitch in his own hand.

With a cry, a scream really, you came. 

Yasha tilted his head to watch your body tremble and shake as you came undone. He watched your eyes clamp shut, as your thighs shook and Steve continued to pound into you without mercy, furthering your orgasm not far from his own. 

Smoothing his thumb over the head of his dick, then down over the metal bars spearing through his own engorged flesh, he watched Steve drop his head back and get sloppy. Pound up against you, rub against your ass, hump you like a damn teenager as he came deep and filled you with his release. Swearing softly beneath his breath, face red and eyes shut, Steve emptied himself into your greedy cunt.

Watching, transfixed, Yasha reached down to cup his balls, run his fingers over them thoughtfully while he observed the two of you coming down. Pleased that Steve had gotten you wet enough for him to hear the sounds of your fucking and that he’d spilled a healthy about of cum in you, to make you feel absolutely perfect.

Unable to watch a second longer, Yasha stood and shed his pants. Kicked off his shoes. Removed the rest of his clothing piece by piece, dropping them onto the chair as he entered the proverbial act. 

Taking a few steps over on long legs dusted with dark hair, erection smacking heavy against his thighs with each step. Leaning down to both kiss Steve soundly on the mouth as you panted and grab Steve’s tie from around his neck, you could do no more than watch. Take in. Recover. Only after Yasha had had his fill from the third in your trio, your darker haired lover reached down to pick you up off the floor, setting you on the couch. 

Merely seeing that beast between his thighs, dusted with dark hair at the base, you knew what would come next and allowed your sweaty, slippery, spent thighs to fall open, unable to look away.

Unwilling to do a thing when Yasha leaned forward to wrap the tie around your neck and knot it, as you had done for him so many times, pushing the knot nearly up to your throat. Hands bound securely beside your back. You offered no resistance, nor would you. Why? Not when Yasha leaned forward to kiss your forehead softly.

Not that you were fooled for one second. You were more than aware of his other hand making its way down your body, as Steve fell over on the floor.

“ _You did so good today,_ ” he cooed to you in Russian. “ _Such a good job with your father. Tell me where you want it sweetheart? Hmmm? Want my cock in your pussy?_ ”

Never giving him a second to offer any other helpful suggestions. Still recovering from the powerful orgasm Steve had given you, you found yourself shamelessly, pushing yourself into Yasha’s hand. Nodding exuberantly. “ _Yes. God yes…please Yasha…_ ”

Such words were an aphrodisiac to him and when he sank those fingers into the gooey mushy mess that Steve had made, Bucky could have died and gone straight to heaven a happy man. Pushing deeper to explore made your hips pop, your core rub up against him. Made your eager little body seek out completion once more.

“ _Fuck…you always feel so good. Look so good in this dress each time I fuck you in it._ ” Because feeling and sight alone were just a fraction of the senses he possessed. Yasha withdrew his hand and held it up for the both of you to see. Slippery with your juices and thick with Steve’s ejaculate. A keening noise came from you as you watched your teenage love suck on his finger and taste both of you.

From the floor Steve chimed in. “Jesus Mary and Joseph, Buck…you’re killing me down here.”

***

_**A few hours later…** _

Okoye was waiting up for Aleksander, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

She was exhausted.

She had finished her book and read every magazine she could find after giving up on the TV, when three am rolled around.

Thankfully, it was nearly five when she heard her nearly lifelong lover return home. Which was perfect timing on his part. As she’d just began to checkout on SAK’s website and would have had to find something else to do with her time afterwards, had he not got back.

More than comfortable in their bed with her laptop on her lap, Okoye remained where she was reclined. Not getting up to greet him. She was his mistress not his wife and she was comfortable. Aleksandr would eventually make his way up the stairs and come to bed. 

In the master bedroom, Okoye checked out from where she leaned against several gloriously stuffed pillows. SAKs being one of her favorite websites to shop from when she wasn’t in the mood to shop in person, or stores were not open.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

And her order was placed. Boom.

A smile pulled on her lips.

“I know that smile.” Came from the bedroom doorway, making her look up from the MacBook to see an exhausted but still handsome Aleksandr, in a suit she’d picked out for him that morning. Every bit the young man she’d met in the city when she was sixteen. “Shoes or clothes?”

With grace, Okoye set her hand on her computer and closed it. Long elegant fingers smoothing over the flat metallic surface. “Both my love. How did it go?”

A groan came in response.

She watched him tug on his tie to loosen it and enter the spacious bedroom that she’d decorated. “Fine. Beautiful wedding. Fabulous food. I lost track of the boys, so we may need bail money come noon.”

Not exactly a surprise.

Nodding in complete understanding and agreement, without a hint of surprise. There was a bank account set aside just for such occasions that bail was required.

“Did you speak with Hank?”

More groaning.

Shaking off his jacket. Okoye watched her partner and the father of grown children that she helped raise and looked at as her own too. Jacket tossed onto the foot of his bed so he could tackle his cufflinks.

“Went that well did it?”

Her tone was home. Smooth and husky, grounding him over the years and making better any bad mood that had settled in.

“Hank bought them a house in this neighborhood,” he told Okoye.

Eyebrows went up.

One cufflink came off.

“Hank wants to have some sort of a gathering or party to celebrate. Since there obviously cannot be a wedding. You know…because there are two of them and Yasha never took Hank’s name, because they still have problems.”

Work began on the second cufflink.

Nodding that she did remember that there were in fact two of them, Okoye made a noise that encouraged Alek to go on. All as she lowered her laptop onto the nightstand. Allowing her to give him her full and complete attention.

“Hank even wants to go into business together. Can you believe that?”

Believe it? Absolutely.

Aleksandr was not ready to fully go into deep discussion about it yet. Decades together made that obvious, so she nodded and made a sympathetic noise. After he showered and rested and had a good meal in him, he’d be able to have a good talk. Until then, Okoye would simply offer her ear.

“He even wanted to discuss what we’d name the grandchildren.” He informed her, fueled by seemingly endless outrage. “How does one even hyphenate all those names? Pierce Pym Barnes and Rogers? Or would it go alphabetically? How does that even work?”

To which Okoye had but a simple answer for your father. 

“Perhaps you and Hank should let them decide that for their child?”

****

_**An hour or so later…** _

In a matter of seconds, you were going to be able to see the sun rise. Just over a few buildings, it would crest and you had a prime viewing spot on the edge of a bed that was almost as comfortable as yours. Maybe like, three degrees away from the perfect level of comfort that you’d managed to find in your beloved mattress.

Mere feet away slept Yasha. 

Snoring gently. One tattooed arm flung over pillows, while his head rested on a pole of other pillows. Naked as the day he was born. Unless you counted all those tattoos that covered him. A few peeked out at you in the dim light of the room.

You weren’t about to wake him up.

No.

You weren’t about to wake him up for a sunrise. Not after you woke up to the feeling of him placing soft open mouth kisses on the soft skin of your wrist, fingers entwined with yours. Steve had been inside of him. The both of them had woken you up. Your hair still wet from the shower the three of you had taken. Wearing Steve’s white button up shirt. 

Steve’s grunts paired with Yasha’s throaty noises had filled the dark bedroom. Sounds of their bodies smacking into one another. Yasha held you so tightly you inched over to hold him. You wrapped your arms around him and pressed your lips to his forehead. You could feel his body move with every thrust from behind from Steve.

The first time Yasha came, he sank his teeth into your arm hard enough to break the skin. Overcome with his orgasm and smearing his release all over the sheets. 

You held him as he shook and told him how much both you and Steve loved him.

Shortly after, when Steve came with a shout buried in his ass, Yasha came a second time with a surprised noise that you felt more than heard.

You didn’t expect him to wake anytime in the near future.

“I found it.”

Steve’s voice distracted you, made you peer over your shoulder from where you sat at the foot of the bed, legs crossed. 

Equally undressed and bearing a Styrofoam container.

Gleefully you clapped. “Where was it? I couldn’t find it.”

A dessert you’d give Wanda your entire shoe collection in return for her recipe. No one in Little Moscow could make it as well as Wanda. No one.

“That little shit put it in the room fridge.”

Ah, well, that was one place you hadn’t looked after a late-night snack of the creamy spongy honey cake with nuts and powdered sugar and bits of crunchy caramel. It was just the thing to snack on while watching the sun rise. The thought alone filled you with far too much excitement. You really did need to get out more. 

Apparently, as eager as you to indulge at the early hour, Steve climbed up onto the bed beside you with that eagle inked on his chest practically egging you on. Illuminated only by the city lights outside the windows.

A spoon was handed over to you that you eagerly took. Eyes totally on the prize of what was in the container that Steve popped open, then snapped the top back down when you attempted to reach over with said plastic utensil _Pretty Woman_ style. And while it was somewhat adorable and made Steve smirk at you with those dimples, that jaw so strong it could cut which was also in need of a shave, you were hungry, possible close to hangry. Resulting in you giving his thick bicep a swat with your utensil.

Really though, you savored these moments with him because there were so few of them before. They’d been little treasures you held close with the knowledge that he might never come back. Obviously, things were now different.

“Ok ok,” Steve smirked, tendrils of messy hair falling across his forehead. “Ladies first.”

Warily you eyed him.

Steve held out the half full container to you. 

Maintaining that healthy amount of eye skepticism, you leaned over to quickly swipe at the cake before pulling your spoon back. “You need to save that energy since you’re now officially in a relationship with the two of us.” You clapped back, sticking the spoon in your mouth so you could have a mouthgasm. As per the usual from any cake Wanda so meticulously created.

Steve’s eyebrows met in the middle in a question, as he speared his own healthy chunk of the glory nestled in the foam.

“If you thought our families were meddlesome before? You’re about to introduced to a whole new level of crazy with the prospect of new business ventures and offspring on the horizon. Get out now while you can.” 

You were joking.

Steve knew you were joking.

It did not mean you spoke a untruth.

Smirking, he leaned over to kiss the corner of your mouth. He finally had everything he wanted and to be truthful, a big loud meddling family full of vibrant people who cared for one another, loved each other, it was exactly what he longed for. Dealing with meddlesome father’s was more than fine in his book. Meddling meant they cared and weren’t pounding back vodka then taking it out on their loved ones.

“Babe,” Steve began, pressing another kiss to the tip of your nose, before both your attentions returned to cake. “I’m done. You’re not getting rid of me. In fact, I look forward to settling down. The only thing that terrifies me are those metal bars in Yasha’s dick.”

A suitable mix of cake and cream again on your spoon, you paused. An eyebrow cocked and a quick peek went over your shoulder at a conked out Yasha.

A little question that had needled at you answered.

“Mmm…you know, I was wondering about that. Usually you enjoy getting dicked down by Yasha as much as me.”

A touch of fire sparked in Steve. In peering back at Yasha too, while you had your second bite, he informed you. “Yasha’s dick is not going near my ass until it is safely wrapped and properly lubed up. God forbid one of those things breaks off inside me, or comes undone and gets stuck.”

Unable to help yourself even a little, you had to focus on not laughing while chewing.

All valid concerns that you yourself had when you first saw what Yasha had done.

“Oh you think this is funny? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he did that.”

Honestly, you still couldn’t fully believe he’d done that. 

Not at all caring that you looked like just as big of a mess as Steve, you finished your cake and tilted your head to look back up at him. Risking another peek back at the sleeping piercing bearer of reference.

Several different remarks filtered through your head. Each you determined unworthy. Reaching for another spoonful, you finally came up with one that you decided was most suitable. 

“You guys steam all the time. How could you not know?”

At mention of the bathhouse, Steve took immediate offense. Raising his spoon up as if it were a pointer, in which to point out a summation of his case. Not even slightly concerned at his nudity with the ever-lightening room. Of course he could have asked for his shirt back. Not that he would. It looked better on you.

Only two buttons done around the middle. All wrinkled, baggy. From where he sat, he could make out nearly one breast and your chest, your collarbone. Somehow your collarbone was what kept drawing his eye. Considering every carnal thing that had gone down over the late night. Steve was a little surprised. 

“Ok, first of all, the bathhouse is sacred. We don’t just run around naked. Or look at each other’s junk.”

Amused, your lips tugged to the side. Having gathered a healthy scoop of cake, you began to nibble. A noise that could have meant anything came from deep within.

On Steve went, “Secondly, when I was dating other people, you weren’t the only person who cut me off. No slap and tickle from Yasha either.”

No slap and tickle. 

It sounded so simple, amusing almost. To use those words was minimizing. It made you smile. Just as he had a playful smiling expression on his face. Hiding those years when he struggled, denied himself, attempted to have an acceptable romantic life as was expected of him. It’d taken Steve a long time to get here, with you, on this bed eating cake as the sun rose and Yasha slept.

It’d taken the three of you years to arrive here, at this place, together.

Forgetting about the cake for a second or two, you took that chiseled jaw between your fingers. Placing a gentle kiss on Steve’s lower lip before you drug the tip of your tongue along it. Rewarded with the sweet taste of the honey and caramel cake. Your words were soft. Reassuring. “Well now you know.” Another kiss was placed over his top lip. “I love you Steve.”

Having actually been shot before, your words hit him nearly the exact same way. Powerful. Explosive. Scarring. Life changing. Your soft sincerity even more so. Because it was true and he could feel it. “Love you too.”


End file.
